THE    MOTTO   OF 
MRS.    McLANE 


THE  MOTTO  OF 
MRS.  McLANE 

THE  STORY  OF 
AN  AMERICAN  FARM 


BY 

SHIRLEY  CARSON 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


DEDICATED    TO 

MY    HUSBAND 

AMD 

TO    ALL    THOSE    NIGHTS   BY    THE    CAMP-FIRE 

AND    THE    DAYS    ON    INDIAN    TRAILS 
WHERE    I    LISTENED    TO    AND    LEARNED    THESE    THINGS 


2228369 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 


UT  AIN'T  denyin'  I've  got  childern 
A  o'  my  own,"  said  Mrs.  McLane, 
slamming  the  oven-door  on  a  couple  of  pies ; 
"and  I'm  not  sayin'  but  what  Ena's  comin' 
here  will  be  an  extry  expense.  I  thought 
that  all  out,  turnin'  and  twistin'  in  the  dark 
last  night  with  that  everlastin'  toe  o'  mine. 
Yet  I  don't  see  any  way  but  to  have  her  here. 
Countin'  her  mother  as  my  sister,  which  she 
warn't,  Ena  has  got  a  sort  o'  right  to  look 
to  me  for  a  home." 

"She's  got  more  right  to  look  to  others," 
said  Dick  sullenly.  "Ena  has  got  closer  rel- 
atives than  her  mother's  step-sister,  and 
people  who  are  better  able  to  take  care  of 
her,  too." 

"The  child'll  get  taken  care  of  here  all 
1 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

right.  At  least,  she'll  go  in  with  the  rest 
o'  you,  and  I  can't  promise  more'n  that. 
No  woman  on  a  farm  has  time  to  train  her 
children  in  a  fancy  way,  and  for  the  mat- 
ter o'  that,  I'm  no  believer  in  it." 

"That's  not  the  point,  mother.  You 
know  we're  not  the  first  who  should  be  asked 
to  do  this— 

"We've  done  it  now,  anyway,"  snapped 
Mrs.  McLane  triumphantly.  "If  other 
people  neglect  their  duty,  it's  no  reason  why 
I  should  take  pattern  by  'em.  I've  made 
it  a  point  all  my  life  to  give  the  helpin'  hand 
to  whatever  come  along,  and  it's  no  time 
to  put  wool  in  my  ear  when  it's  the  case  of 
a  child  that  calls  me  aunt.  Ena  has  got 
her  father's  folks,  I  know,  but  they  don't 
seem  to  want  her,  and  a  girl  o'  thirteen  can't 
manage  for  herself.  If  you  do  your  duty, 
Dick,  you'll  hitch  up  the  buggy  this  minute. 
The  train  gets  in  at  four  o'clock,  and  you've 
eight  miles  to  drive." 
Dick  uncurled  his  long  legs  from  the  wood- 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

box,  and  stood  for  a  moment  watching  his 
mother  trim  off  a  third  pie. 

"What'll  father  say?"  he  asked.  "You 
know  you've  fixed  up  this  whole  business 
without  a  word  from  him." 

"Your  father's  not  here  to  say  a  word," 
answered  Mrs.  McLane  complacently,  "and 
when  he  gets  back  he'll  see  that  nothin'  else 
could  ha'  been  done.  Six  childern  ain't  so 
much  more'n  five,  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it.  Ena  bein'  here'll  make  you  boys  feel 
you've  got  a  sister." 

"She'll  not  care  about  us  for  brothers, 
though,"  Dick  blurted  out,  saying  the  thing 
that  had  been  in  his  thoughts  for  the  last 
few  minutes.  "That's  what  I'm  trying  to 
show  you,  mother.  Ross  has  seen  it  all 
along.  You  can  tell  by  her  letters  that 
Ena's  had  a  better  bringing-up  than  us. 
You'll  most  likely  find  her  a  lady." 

"You'll  discover  she'll  be  glad  enough  to 
wear  a  calico  dress  and  a  sun-bonnet,  even 
if  she's  been  used  to  finer  things  in  Calif  orny. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

With  her  father  and  mother  dead,  and  the 
folks  out  there  tryin'  to  turn  their  backs  on 
her,  I'm  not  expectin'  to  find  the  child  a 
peacock.  I  guess  you  boys  have  got  man- 
ners enough  for  her.  Ploughin'  and  sortin' 
pertaters  don't  make  for  cityfied  ways,  I 
know,  but  Ena'll  be  glad  enough  to  find  the 
roof  of  a  farmhouse  over  her,  I'm  thinkin'. 
Now,  you  stop  worryin'  about  nonsense  and 
fill  the  wood-box  for  me  afore  you  start." 

Dick  lounged  to  the  sunny  doorway  and 
then  paused  again,  his  eye  on  the  wood-pile. 
There,  curled  up  behind  the  split  logs  and 
well  screened  from  a  view  of  the  kitchen- win- 
dow, lay  the  boy  of  scarcely  fifteen,  who  was 
known  as  the  "halfway  one"  of  the  McLane 
family.  Dick  looked  at  his  mother  again. 

"It  isn't  particularly  that  I  don't  want 
Ena  here,  but  it  seems  as  if  there  was  al- 
ways something  cropping  up  to  prevent  us 
getting  a  step  forward.  I'm  nineteen,  and 
I've  never  seen  a  pair  o'  shoes  wearing  off 
my  feet  yet  without  wondering  if  another 

4 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

pair  would  be  sure  to  come  along  after 
them.  I've  thought  lately  things  could  be  a 
bit  different.  We  ought  to  know  what  we 
can  afford,  and  what  we  can't." 

"You  may  know  a  thing,  but  you  can't 
always  take  it  into  account."  Mrs.  McLane 
wiped  the  flour  from  her  arms  vigorously. 
"All  you  can  do  is  to  cast  your  bread  upon 
the  waters — what  you've  got — and  trust  the 
first  tide'll  bring  it  in  again.  You  wouldn't 
shut  up  like  a  clam-shell  just  because  you 
happen  to  be  poor,  would  you?" 

"I'd  weigh  things  out  more,  and  take  note 
where  helping  one  person  hurts  another. 
I'm  thinking  of  Ross,  who  wants  in  the  worst 
kind  of  a  way  to  go  to  school.  He  works 
hard  all  the  time  with  that  one  idea  in  his 
head,  and  it  kind  of  worries  me  to  have 
things  done  which  put  him  farther  from  it. 
He's  learned  all  the  district  school  can  teach 
him,  and  he  knows  it.  Don't  you  see  what  I 
mean,  mother?" 

"I  see  that  you're  tormentin'  the  hand  o' 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Providence,  which  gives  you  what  you  get; 
and  worryin'  over  things  in  the  future  that's 
not  to  be  seen  nor  smelt  yet.  It's  been  my 
way  to  take  what  comes  along,  but  you  and 
Ross  are  for  ever  tryin'  to  stretch  your  necks 
across  to-morrow  and  see  what  you  can 
catch  up  with.  It's  no  way  to  do." 

Dick  leaned  against  the  lintel  disconso- 
lately. 

"But  I'd  sift  what  came  along,"  he  per- 
sisted. "I'd  weigh  consequences." 

"You'd  wear  spectacles  all  the  time,  and 
keep  your  nose  on  full  scent,  but  that's  not 
my  way,  and  I  don't  know  that  people  get 
on  any  better  for  bein'  so  pernickety.  A 
good  turn  is  a  good  turn,  never  mind  the 
weighin'  and  the  siftin'  of  it." 

"You're  awful  set  in  your  ways,  mother." 

"Land  knows,  I've  had  to  be,  with  a  hus- 
band to  manage  and  five  young  ones  to 
bring  up,  not  to  speak  o'  the  farm.  There's 
been  no  time  for  diddle-daddlin',  and  I 
guess  I've  got  as  good  a  head  on  my  shoul- 

6 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

ders  as  any  of  you.  It  beats  me  entirely  to 
see  the  stand  you've  took  over  Ena's  comin'. 
If  you  ain't  got  a  smile  to  give  her  when  she 
steps  up,  you  best  let  Ross  take  the  buggy. 
It  sorter  makes  me  feel  ashamed  to  think  the 
child's  comin'  to  a  place  where  she  ain't  en- 
tirely welcome." 

"I  told  you  I'm  not  talking  altogether 
about  Ena."  Dick  writhed  as  easily  as 
most  people  under  Mrs.  McLane's  reproach. 
"There's  other  things  that  haven't  happened 
right.  I  got  these  thoughts  started  when 
that  pedlar  robbed  you  a  year  ago,  and 
took  the  only  good  bit  of  jewellery  you'd 
got." 

"The  Lord  showed  me  no  thief  in  his  eye 
when  he  crawled  up  and  asked  for  a  night's 
rest.  Would  you  have  me  harden  my  heart 
because  o'  that  pedlar  and  his  wicked  ways? 
You  had  better  leave  the  judgment  o'  such 
things  to  me,  and  have  done  with  the 
thoughts  I  see  in  your  mind.  And  if  I'm 
to  get  my  bakin'  done  in  time  the  wood-box 

7 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

must  be  filled  this  minute.  All  this  foolish 
talk  won't  help  the  oven  to  heat." 

A  tremendous  clatter  of  stove-lids  helped 
to  finish  the  last  remark — a  way  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane  had  of  giving  triumphal  emphasis  to 
the  end  of  an  argument.  Dick  went  out 
moodily  to  the  wood-pile,  and  woke  up  the 
boy  who  was  sleeping  in  the  sun.  The  latter 
stretched  himself,  then  rose  alertly.  Dick 
spoke  without  looking  at  him. 

"I'm  going  to  hitch  up  the  buggy  right 
away,  and  get  over  to  Creston." 

"Then  she's  coming?"  Ross  leaned  his 
slender  form  against  the  logs,  speaking 
quietly. 

"She's  most  here,  according  to  what 
mother  says.  I'd  have  you  go  to  the 
depot,  but  I  want  to  see  Custer  about  the 
machinery  we  ordered.  You'll  have  to  do 
the  chores  alone  to-night,  and  get  them  done 
early.  We  don't  want  a  pile  of  work  around 
when  Ena's  here." 

The  two  boys  looked  at  each  other  with 
8 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

understanding.  "Since  she's  coming  we'll 
do  what  we  can,"  Dick  continued  stoically. 
"She'll  see  what  we  are,  and  know  she's  got 
to  sink  or  swim  with  us.  I  guess  that  be- 
fore a  week's  out  she  may  be  wishing  we 
hadn't  been  so  ready  with  an  invitation* 
Now  I'm  off." 

Ross  nodded,  and  watched  the  buggy  out 
of  sight.  A  vague  apprehension  and  a  sub- 
dued anticipation  equally  possessed  him. 
He  went  about  the  work  Dick  had  specified 
with  a  marvellous  energy,  and  the  result  of 
his  enthusiasm  was  that  towards  six  o'clock 
that  evening  an  unwonted  peace  reigned  in 
the  farmhouse  kitchen.  He  had  been  aided 
by  the  twin  brothers,  who  were  five  years  his 
junior,  and  they  had  got  through  with  the 
chores  in  considerably  less  time  than  usual. 
The  three  were  now  washing-up  at  the  bench 
in  a  hurry.  Mrs.  McLane,  slicing  potatoes 
into  the  griddle,  noted  special  efforts  were 
being  made,  and  sniffed  somewhat  disdain- 
fully. 

9 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"I  ain't  one  to  put  on  airs  to-day  which 
have  to  be  taken  off  to-morrow.  I  might 
have  put  on  my  best  black  skirt,  but  Ena'd 
see  me  in  my  old  calico  the  very  next  time 
she  set  eyes  on  me,  so  what's  the  use?  Bet- 
ter begin  as  you  mean  to  go  on,  and  cause 
no  flurry.  You  boys  are  washin'  your  necks 
three  times  round  to-night  where  once  does 
as  a  usual  thing  and  often  nothin'  at  all. 
Be  quick  and  get  through  anyway.  I  want 
someone  to  look  after  the  supper  while  I  go 
upstairs." 

Ross  hung  up  his  towel,  and  went  to  the 
window,  peering  out. 

"They  won't  be  here  for  ten  minutes,"  he 
said,  brushing  his  hair  down  with  his  moist 
hands.  "Dick  had  one  or  two  errands  to  do 
on  his  way  back." 

"If  he  don't  forget  'em  on  account  o'  hav- 
ing Ena  with  him,  which  is  more'n  likely. 
Dick  ain't  much  of  a  hand  at  thinkin'  o' 
more  than  one  thing  at  a  time,  and  Ena's 
comin'  here  has  upset  him  quite  a  bit.  I 
10 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

don't  know  why,  I'm  sure,  for  he  sees  that 
I  ain't  puttin'  myself  out  o'  the  way  any. 
I  ain't  found  time  to  finish  straightenin'  the 
bedroom  she's  to  have  till  this  minute. 
Ross,  did  you  set  those  books  o'  yourn  out 
o'  the  closet?" 

"I  did  it  this  morning." 

"Then  I'll  take  this  piece-quilt  and  lay 
over  the  bed.  It's  the  last  new  one  I  made, 
and  I  shouldn't  like  to  say  how  many  stitches 
there  is  in  it.  If  Ena  is  handy  with  her 
needle,  she'll  be  a  help  with  the  sewin'." 

Ross  followed  his  mother  through  the  sit- 
ting-room and  up  the  little  flight  of  stairs 
which  opened  directly  into  the  north  bed- 
room. Here  Dick  slept,  and  here  also,  ow- 
ing to  the  new  arrangement,  a  feather-bed 
for  Jerry  and  Dan  had  been  thrown  on  the 
floor  in  one  corner.  Ross  looked  at  it  doubt- 
fully. 

"They'll  sleep  as  well  there  as  the  Presi- 
dent does  in  the  White  House,"  said  Mrs. 
McLane.  "If  they  don't  rest  good  they 
11 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

can  work  a  little  harder  durin'  the  day,  and 
that'll  cure  'em.  Now,  why  don't  you 
share  this  bed  with  Dick  'stead  o'  wantin' 
the  little  off-room  which  I've  only  used  for 
a  garret," 

"Because  I  like  to  be  alone,  and  I  can 
have  my  things  to  myself."  Ross  stepped 
into  the  little  room  as  if  to  shield  it  from 
entry.  "You  let  me  fix  it  up,  mother,  and 
it'll  be  all  right." 

"I  don't  care,  if  you  want  it.  You're 
neat  enough,  I'll  say  that  for  you  always. 
Here  you've  been  fixing  up  Ena's  room,  too. 
Ain't  these  your  own  book-shelves?" 

"I'm  making  some  more  for  myself." 
Ross  looked  anxiously  at  the  wooden  bed- 
stead, the  chair  and  little  table,  and  the 
two  strips  of  rag-carpet.  "If  we  had  a 
rocker  up  here,  mother,  it  would  be  all 
right." 

"Rocker,  none!  What  I've  got  are  for 
the  sittin'-room.  If  Ena's  a  good  helpful 
girl,  she  won't  want  to  sit  up  here  and  rock. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Yesterday  you  was  askin'  me  for  a  muslin 
blind  for  the  window." 

"I  don't  want  it  now.  Ena  can't  have 
seen  a  finer  view  than  she  gets  here.  I've 
watched  Pine  Hill  ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber. She'll  see  it  when  she  wakes  to-mor- 
row morning." 

"She  may  not  have  your  fancies  for  such 
things."  Mrs.  McLane  spoke  a  little  softly, 
turning  the  candle-light  full  on  the  boy's 
eager  face.  This  third  son  of  hers  was,  in 
many  ways,  a  puzzle,  and  sometimes  an  an- 
noyance, but  she  loved  him  well. 

"If  she's  like  most  girls  she'll  want  to  tend 
the  house  and  sew,  and  find  new  ways  o' 
doin'  her  hair.  It's  best  for  a  woman  to  be 
that  way,  anyhow.  It  all  comes  in  her  path, 
and  if  she  don't  like  it  so  much  the  worse 
for  her.  Just  smooth  the  bed-quilt  over 
there.  You've  found  a  flower  or  two  for  the 
vase,  I  declare.  That's  so  much  the  better, 
but  I've  no  time  for  such  ways.  Don't  the 
smell  o'  them  pertaters  burnin'  come  right 
13 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

to   your  nose?     Jerry  McLane  is   a  poor 
enough  hand  at  a  cook-stove." 

Ross  leaned  out  of  the  window  as  his 
mother  and  the  candle  vanished  simultane- 
ously. The  tranquil  night  of  the  Indian 
summer  had  fallen,  but  looking  to  the  west, 
he  could  see  a  soft  blur  of  hills  against  the 
sky.  The  still  woods  lay  below  them,  and 
nearer  there  were  open  spaces,  dotted  by 
the  lit  windows  of  lonely  farmhouses.  The 
road  from  Creston  wound  between  the  hills 
and  along  for  eight  miles  till  it  passed  in 
front  of  the  McLane  house,  from  which  it 
was  separated  by  a  lawn  which  did  as  it 
liked,  and  a  semicircle  of  trees  which  the 
birds  owned. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  old  enough 
to  know  what  a  sixth  child  dependent  on 
the  slender  resources  of  the  family  would 
mean,  Ross  could  not  help  sharing  to  some 
extent  the  delighted  excitement  of  the  twins 
over  the  advent  of  the  cousin  from  Cal- 
ifornia. There  was  a  certain  novelty  in  the 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

episode  which  outshone  even  reasons  of 
prudence,  and  it  seemed  superfluous  (at  the 
moment)  to  reflect  on  the  possible  vicissi- 
tudes that  Ena's  coming  might  bring.  Ross 
was  more  inclined  to  take  his  mother's  atti- 
tude just  now,  and  assume  a  wholesale  trust 
over  the  future.  Life  so  far  had  been  se- 
cure in  fundamentals :  there  had  always  been 
three  meals  a  day,  a  suit  for  Sundays,  and 
a  variety  of  garments  calculated  for  work- 
ing wear.  It  was  true  that  these  latter  were 
often  of  a  somewhat  trying  description, 
fished  mostly  from  the  depths  of  a  mysteri- 
ously bountiful  attic,  and  rarely  calculated, 
either  in  size  or  shape,  to  adorn  the  person 
called  upon  to  close  their  career.  Yet  the 
McLane  children  were  well  schooled  in  the 
necessities  adversity  brings,  and  Ross  had 
even  been  known  to  wear  the  prune-coloured 
coat  of  a  deceased  great-uncle  with  a  sense 
of  blessing. 

In  thinking  of  Ena  there  was  a  distinctly 
restful  sense  about  the  fact  that  the  winter 
15 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

was  coming.  After  the  hard  work  of  the 
summer  the  whole  community  at  the  farm 
were  wont  to  sigh  with  a  certain  relief  at  the 
first  flying  of  the  snow.  It  meant  a  still 
further  seclusion,  even  from  the  straggling 
little  village  of  Lindville,  but  the  McLanes 
were  a  family  of  resource,  and  the  pioneer 
spirit  burned  bravely.  There  was  a  certain 
pleasure  in  the  fighting  experiences  the 
winter  brought,  which  appealed  to  one  and 
all.  Ross  squared  his  shoulders  in- 
voluntarily as  he  thought  of  it,  and  he  be- 
came convinced  that  Ena  would  resent  her 
surroundings  less  than  Dick  imagined. 
Mrs.  McLane  had  declared  more  than  once 
that  there  would  be  the  charm  of  novelty; 
and  Ross  sat  down  in  sudden  enthusiasm  on 
the  new  patchwork  quilt,  half  believing  that 
this  would  prove  true. 

The   grinding    of   buggy-wheels    on   the 

dusty  road  stopped  any  further  speculation, 

and,  straining  his  eyes  through  the  nearly 

fallen  darkness,  Ross  saw  Dick  driving  in. 

16 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

He  rushed  downstairs,  encountering  his 
mother  as  she  emerged  from  the  kitchen, 
gripping  the  potato-fork  in  one  hand. 

"Open  the  door,  do,"  she  demanded. 
"Jerry  and  Dan  ha'  been  watchin'  this  half- 
hour,  neglectin'  everythin'  else,  and  now 
they're  fit  to  hide  in  the  cellar  for  shyness. 
Dick's  brought  the  buggy  to  the  front  porch, 
and  there's  Ena  gettin'  out  now.  My!  A 
taller  girl  than  I  thought,  and  dressed  quiet, 
but  as  fine  as  a  fiddle.  Let  me  get  out  to 
her." 

Ross  held  the  door  open,  the  colour  of 
doubt  and  diffidence  mounting  slowly  to  his 
face.  He  had  never  seen  before  the  type 
of  girl  his  mother  drew  into  the  room,  and 
as  her  eyes  met  his  he  withdrew  his  glance, 
the  greeting  on  his  lips  unspoken.  Mrs. 
McLane  laughed  as  she  kissed  her  niece. 

"They're  shy,  one  and  all,  but  we  don't 

see  strangers  in  these  parts,  Ena.     Loose 

your  coat,  child,  and  make  yourself  at  home 

right  away.     You've  got  a  share  in  the  place 

17 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

now,  you  know.  Just  throw  your  clothes 
in  the  rocker  over  there,  and  then  come  to 
the  fire.  I  misdoubt  but  what  you've  had  a 
cold  drive." 

"Only  for  the  last  few  minutes."  Ena 
crossed  to  Ross  as  she  spoke,  holding  out 
her  hand.  At  the  same  moment  she  caught 
sight  of  Jerry  and  Dan,  pushing  one  another 
surreptitiously  forward  into  the  room. 

"What  a  lot  of  boys!"  she  said. 

"All  boys,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "Four 
you've  seen,  though  I  must  say  you've  got 
nothin'  out  of  'em,  and  one  more  to  come. 
That's  Dale,  and  he  works  out  over  to  Uncle 
Ed's  farm,  three  miles  or  more  from  here. 
He'll  be  here  to-night  to  spend  over  Sunday 
with  us,  and  that's  all  we  see  of  him  just 
now.  It's  a  real  grist  o'  boys  for  you,  Ena, 
and  only  one  anywhere  near  your  own  age. 
You  and  Ross  ought  to  get  along  together 
when  he's  got  over  feelin'  you're  somethin' 
right  out  o'  the  common.  Now  all  o'  you 
come  and  set  right  down  to  supper." 
18 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Ross  pulled  his  chair  from  under  the 
table,  but  at  the  same  moment  a  sudden  dis- 
taste for  supper  seized  him.  Nobody  was 
looking,  and  he  opened  the  back-door  softly, 
and  slipped  out  unnoticed.  Dick  was  com- 
ing across  the  yard  from  the  barn,  and  Ross 
saw  him  enter  the  kitchen  and  take  his  ac- 
customed place  at  the  table.  Then  Mrs. 
McLane  noticed  the  absent  one,  and  came 
to  the  door  shouting  impatiently;  but  Ross 
stayed  silently  in  the  wood-shed,  and  the 
call  was  not  repeated. 

How  long  he  sat  there  he  did  not  know, 
but  the  lights  were  all  out  in  the  farmhouse 
when  at  last  he  stepped  quietly  across  the 
yard.  In  the  meantime  he  had  thought  him- 
self into  a  state  of  comparative  tranquillity. 
The  feeling  of  having  been  taken  unawares 
had  passed,  and  he  braced  himself  with  the 
belief  that,  when  the  morning  came,  he 
would  be  able  to  meet  the  wonderful  cousin 
with  almost  as  much  nonchalance  as  Mrs. 
McLane. 

19 


CHAPTER  II 

4  4T  II  THEN  shall  I  see  Aunt  Loosher?" 
V  V  Ena  had  been  at  the  farm  three 
days  now,  and  the  fatigue  of  the  long  jour- 
ney and  the  first  dreadful  sensation  of 
homesickness  were  things  of  the  past.  To- 
day was  Tuesday,  and  it  seemed  a  long,  long 
while  back  to  the  previous  Saturday  even- 
ing of  her  arrival.  Since  then  she  had  ex- 
plored every  nook  and  cranny  round  the 
farm,  and  made  friends  with  all  the  members 
of  the  curious,  happy-go-lucky  family  into 
whose  midst  she  had  so  suddenly  been  cast. 
There  was  too  much  work  going  on  for  any- 
one to  pay  particular  attention  to  her,  but 
this  was  just  as  well,  for  Ena  did  best  when 
cast  on  her  own  resources,  and  her  natural 
courage  and  self-reliance  had  already  as- 
serted itself.  Of  all  the  new  cousins,  it  was 
to  Ross  she  turned  instinctively  for  comrade- 
20 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

ship.  He  had  unfolded  gradually  from  his 
first  shyness,  partly,  perhaps,  because  Ena 
displayed  no  such  feeling  towards  him.  The 
two  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  each  other  in 
the  past  three  days,  but  their  first  real  con- 
versation was  taking  place  now,  on  the  wood- 
pile, while  Ena  awaited  Mrs.  McLane's 
summons  to  "go  over"  her  trunks — a  mys- 
terious task  which  had  been  put  off  from 
hour  to  hour  and  day  to  day,  since  her  ar- 
rival. 

"When  shall  I  see  Aunt  Loosher?"  Ena 
persisted,  watching  Ross  pile  the  wood  in 
order.  "Dale  told  me  on  Sunday  that  I 
shouldn't  be  a  part  of  the  neighbourhood 
until  Aunt  Loosher  had  seen  me.  Who  is 
she?" 

"She's  the  eldest  of  all  ma's  family — the 
one  that's  lame  in  the  knees,  you  know.  It 
makes  her  so  she  can't  always  get  around 
when  she  wants  to,  and  then  she's  mad. 
Didn't  you  hear  Dale  say  she  wanted  to 
come  over  with  him  Sunday?" 
£1 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Was  she  too  sick?" 

"Just  her  knees.  She's  rickety.  Ma's 
promised  to  let  you  go  over  one  day  this 
week,  and  then  you'll  see  her,  and  Uncle 
Ed.  Jerry's  scared  lest  she  wants  you  to 
stay  with  her." 

"To  stay  with  her?"  Ena  sat  down  sud- 
denly on  the  logs,  feeling  overcome  by  the 
proposition.  "Haven't  they  any  children  of 
their  own?" 

"No." 

"Is  that  why  Dale  stays  there?"  Ena 
put  her  chin  in  her  hands.  The  inquisitive 
side  of  her  nature  had  been  called  to  the 
front  now. 

"Dale  stays  to  help.  Aunt  Loosher 
wouldn't  have  him  round  for  the  fun 
of  it."  Ross  laughed  as  he  swung  his 
axe. 

"Why  does  Jerry  think  I  may  stay  over 
there  too?" 

"Just  an  idea  he's  got — perhaps  he  heard 
Dale  say  something.  I  guess  Dale  teased 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

him,"  Ross  concluded,  noticing  Ena's  seri- 
ous face. 

"Is  that  all?  I  thought  you  really  meant 
it."  Ena  rose,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "I've 
been  for  a  year  past  with  an  aunt  and  uncle 
who  hadn't  any  children,  and  I  didn't  like 
it.  They  didn't  care  for  it  either."  Ena 
added  simply,  "and  so  I  stayed  at  school 
most  of  the  time." 

Ross  looked  at  her  enviously.  "The  dis- 
trict school  over  the  hill  there  won't  be  any 
good  to  you,"  he  said,  pointing  west. 
"You'd  have  to  go  to  Creston  for  the  school- 
ing that  you  want." 

"Do  you?" 

"Not  yet."  A  faint  colour  stole  into  the 
boy's  cheeks,  and  he  wielded  the  axe  with  re- 
doubled vigour,  as  if  he  guessed  that  in  de- 
voted labour  only  lay  the  chance  to  attain 
his  desire — which,  indeed,  was  true!  Ena 
moved  a  step  nearer.  She  was  sure  by  now 
that  she  liked  Ross  the  best  of  all  the  cousins. 

"I'll  go  to  the  district  school  with  you 
23 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

this  winter  if  Aunt  June  will  let  me.  We 
can  study  together  in  the  evening,  and  per- 
haps I  can  help ' 

Just  then  Mrs.  McLane's  head  appeared 
at  the  bedroom  window  as  she  shouted  a 
quick  summons.  Ena  left  her  sentence  un- 
finished but  understood,  and  hurried  up- 
stairs. Mrs.  McLane  was  already  in  the 
doorway  of  the  bedroom,  casting  a  somewhat 
withering  glance  round  at  the  extreme  neat- 
ness within. 

"You  take  after  your  ma  in  being  finicky, 
Ena.  She  just  spent  her  time  in  puttin' 
crooked  chairs  straight  and  tackin'  down 
carpet  for  someone  to  kick  up  again.  I  mis- 
doubt but  what  she'd  ha'  lived  longer  if  she'd 
ha'  been  more  easy-backed  in  the  way  o' 
takin'  things.  But  she  was  a  woman  who 
never  saw  where  she  was  at  till  she  got  there, 
and  so  she  was  always  havin'  a  time  doin' 
what  she  hadn't  expected  to.  Now  which 
trunk  do  you  want  me  to  go  over  first?" 

Ena,  unconscious  of  having  made  any  re- 
24. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

quest  in  the  matter  at  all,  pulled  out  the 
smaller  trunk. 

"I  put  just  my  dresses  in  here,  and  noth- 
ing else,"  she  remarked.  Mrs.  McLane 
sniffed. 

"Two  trunks  for  a  girl  o'  thirteen  is  quite 
a  bit  o'  baggage.  You  ain't  stinted  none  in 
clothes,  that's  sure.  How  many  new  things 
did  your  Uncle  Hugo  and  your  aunt  buy 
for  you  when  they  knew  you  was  comin' 
here?" 

"Aunt  made  me  those  linen  dresses — 
those  you're  taking  out  now." 

Scorn  seemed  to  be  dripping  from  Mrs. 
McLane's  fingers.  She  held  one  of  the 
dresses  aloft. 

"All  decked  out  with  embroidery,  as  if 
you'd  been  comin'  to  sit  in  a  front  parlour 
for  the  rest  o'  your  life.  I  can  tell  by  her 
notion  o'  fixin'  clothes  that  she  and  I 
wouldn't  get  on  for  a  minute.  Why  didn't 
she  get  you  some  good  calico?" 

"I  suppose  she  didn't  think  of  it." 

25 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Likely  she  didn't.  It's  easy  to  see  she's 
one  o'  those  women  who  live  sorter  lace- 
edged  lives,  drinkin'  tea  in  high-heeled  slip- 
pers, and  embroiderin'  little  mats.  It  clear 
tuckers  me  out  to  have  any  thin'  to  do  with 
'em,  and  I  always  want  to  set  'em  scourin' 
milk-pails.  Your  Aunt  Loosher  had  a  sort 
o'  spell  that  way  when  she  was  a  young 
woman,  but  marryin'  a  farmer  took  all  the 
nonsense  out  o'  her,  and  she  was  soon  feedin' 
hogs  as  good  as  anybody." 

"Is  Aunt  Loosher  your  only  sister?" 

"No,  there's  another  one,  but  she  lives  a 
matter  o'  fifty  miles  from  here,  and  I  ain't 
seen  her  in  this  ten  years.  She  took  to  her 
bed  to  reform  her  husband." 

"Was  he  wicked?" 

"Drink,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  tersely. 
"It's  funny  that  Rachel  was  always  so  agen 
drink,  and  that's  the  very  thing  she  married. 
Seems  as  if  the  thing  we  run  away  from  runs 
after  us.  I  guess  Jeremiah  let  up  some  on 
his  ways  when  he  saw  how  things  was  goin', 
26 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

but  by  that  time  Rachel  was  too  comfort- 
able to  quit,  and  there  she  lays  till  this  day. 
Last  I  heer'd  o'  her  she  had  took  to  hatchin' 
eggs." 

"Hatchin  eggs?"  Ena  sat  up  incredu- 
lously, with  quivering  lips.  "Are  you  seri- 
ous, Aunt  June?" 

Mrs.  McLane  sniffed  disapproval. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  ain't,  nor  what  there 
is  to  laugh  at  neither.  The  woman  lays 
there  continual,  and  she  may  as  well  make 
some  use  o'  herself.  It's  the  only  sensible 
thing  I've  heer'd  about  her  in  a  long  while. 
Now  you've  got  a  real  mess  o'  muslin  dresses 
here,  Ena,  and  you'll  never  get  through  with 
'em  by  just  wearin'  'em  Sundays." 

"I  wear  them  every  day  in  the  hot 
weather."  Ena  came  back  somewhat  won- 
deringly  from  thoughts  of  Aunt  Rachel. 

"Did  them  folks  in  Californy  think  you'd 
keep  at  the  flimsy-limsy  style  o'  life  down 
here;  don't  they  know  nothin'  about  farm 
ways?" 

27 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Ena  confessed,  look- 
ing at  her  wardrobe,  which,  until  now,  had 
befitted  her  mode  of  life.  "City  life  is  dif- 
ferent. Uncle  Hugo  said  it  would  be  much 
better  for  me  to  be  brought  up  in  the 
country." 

Mrs.  McLane  looked  at  the  girl's  face  and 
saw  complete  innocence  there. 

''Did  your  Uncle  Hugo  have  a  pleasant 
way  with  him?"  she  inquired  disdainfully. 
Ena  nodded. 

"I  thought  so.  Sorter  smiled  when  he 
said  that,  and  maybe  patted  your  head.  I'm 
glad  you've  come  to  a  place  where  nobody'll 
pat  your  head,  but  where  what  you  find 
sorter  feels  your  own.  Guess  you've  got 
that  kind  o'  feelin'  in  your  blood  a'ready, 
ain't  you?" 

"A  little  bit,  Aunt  June." 

"June!     For  the  land's  sake,  don't  call 

me  that  soft  name,  child.     Let  it  be  Ju, 

just  as  everybody  else  does.     The  folks  must 

ha'  been  crazy  when  they  called  me  June." 

28 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"But  it's  pretty." 

"Nothin's  pretty  that  ain't  got  sense  to 
it,  and  a  tormentin'  name  like  that  makes 
you  feel  kind  o'  silly-like,  as  if  you'd  been 
writ  about  in  a  dime  novel.  Your  mother 
— she  was  just  my  sister,  you  know,  and  I 
never  saw  her  till  I  .was  past  eleven — used 
to  laugh  about  the  names  in  our  f  am'ly,  and 
she  always  called  Loosher  'Lucheer' — same 
as  it  should  be,  she  said.  Loosher  was  quite 
set  up  over  it  for  a  bit,  but  then  she  got  kind 
of  scared  about  the  spellin',  and  last  of  all 
she  went  back  to  the  good-enough  way  we'd 
always  had.  Your  mother  kept  her  own  no- 
tion over  it,  though — she  had  just  enough 
cussedness  in  her  to  make  her  real  amusin' 
and  sorter  independent,  and  I  can  see  you're 
some  the  same.  Seems  queer  I  never  saw 
her  after  she  married  and  went  out  to  Cali- 
forny.  It's  a  long  way,  though,  and  I  guess 
your  pa's  folks  is  diff'rent — sorter  gingery 
about  mixin'  with  milk  when  once  they'd  riz 
to  be  cream.  No  disrespect  to  'em,"  Mrs. 
29 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

McLane  added  hurriedly,  seeing  she  had  in- 
troduced a  new  idea  into  Ena's  mind. 
"There's  lots  that  way,  and  it  seems  sorter 
human  nature  for  some  people  to  want  to 
be  in  the  boss-seat,  even  if  it  only  brings 
'em  rotten  eggs.  Well,  I've  come  to  the 
bottom  o'  this  trunk,  and  ain't  found  nothin' 
reasonable  in  the  way  o'  wear  in  it.  There's 
nothin'  highfalutin,  but  everything  made  in 
a  way  which  shows  me  that  your  aunt  thinks 
more  o'  Parishun  fashions  than  she  does  o' 
salvation.  I'm  not  sure  what  the  folks'll 
think  when  you  go  to  Sabbath-school. 
Likely  they'll  feel  I'd  ought  to  ha'  set  you  up 
in  somethin'  diff'rent;  but  it  goes  mortal 
agen  the  grain  for  me  to  waste  any  thin', 
though  I  ain't  got  no  miserly  blood  in  me 
same  as  Loosher." 

"I'll  wear  these  out,  and  get  calico  after- 
wards," suggested  Ena,  breathing  a  sigh  of 
relief  as  she  saw  Mrs.  McLane's  fingers  go- 
ing more  lightly  over  the  second  trunk. 
"How  will  that  do,  Aunt  June?" 
30 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"I  guess  that'll  be  right.  If  I'd  had  girls 
you  could  ha'  shared  up  with  'em  some,  but 
there  ain't  a  girl  in  the  hull  family. 
Loosher's  nary  chick  nor  child,  and  since 
she's  gone  some  lame  in  the  knees,  I  guess 
she  feels  the  want  o'  one  to  trip  around  a 
bit  for  her.  She's  such  pernickety  ways  that 
no  hired  girl'll  stay  more'n  a  week  or  two.  If 
Dale  warn't  soft  and  easy-goin',  he  couldn't 
take  a  bit  o'  comfort  over  there,  but  he's 
just  one  o'  the  sort  that  anywheres  is  home 
to  him.  He's  like  his  father,  who  you'll  not 
see  till  spring,  seein'  as  he's  gone  in  the 
woods  this  winter.  I'm  kind  o'  sorry  he  left 
home  early  this  year,  but  he's  been  stayin' 
a  couple  o'  weeks  with  a  sick  brother  up 
North,  and  from  there  he'll  go  on  to  the 
loggin'  camp.  I  writ  him  a  letter  yest'day 
sayin'  you  was  here,  and  how  he'd  have 
somethin'  fresh  to  come  home  to  in  the 
spring." 

"Didn't  he  know  I  was  coming?"  Ena 
looked  a  little  disconcerted,  some  habits  of 
31 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

the  McLane  family  being  as  yet  unfamiliar 
to  her. 

"Time  enough  for  him  to  know  now,  when 
we've  sure-enough  got  you  here."  Mrs. 
McLane  struggled  up  from  the  floor.  "Rob 
McLane  sorter  fits  into  my  doin's,  quiet  like, 
and  there's  a  good  bit  o'  peaceableness  about 
him.  He's  a  deal  easier  to  do  with  than 
Dick,  as  you'll  see  later  on  when  you  get  the 
hang  o'  the  family.  I  ain't  sorter  shook 
down  to  the  feelin'  o'  you  yet,  though  you 
don't  act  strange  a  particle,  and  I'm  glad 
of  it.  That  used  to  be  your  mother's  way. 
She'd  just  set  down  with  anybody,  and  act 
as  if  she'd  known  'em  a  hundred  years.  It's 
a  good  thing  those  Calif orny  folks  ain't  took 
the  naturalness  out  o'  you.  I'll  bet  your 
aunt  is  all  starch  and  frills?" 

Ena  looked  puzzled. 

"No  harm  meant  to  her,  o'  course,"  said 
Mrs.  McLane.  "I  can  just  fancy  she  and 
me  wouldn't  get  on,  that's  all.  Folks  has 
to  have  diff' rent  ways,  else  we  should  all 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

die  o'  the  monotony  of  each  other,  and 
there'd  be  no  chance  to  pick  at  one  another, 
nor  nothin'.  It'd  be  a  pretty  dull  world  for 
some  folks,  I  tell  you.  Now,  your  aunt, 
maybe,  is  a  good  woman  in  her  way,  but  she 
ain't  got  the  feelin'  that  we're  all  brothers 
and  sisters  in  this  world,  and  oughter  give 
the  helpin'  hand  to  one  another,  and  never 
mind  if  it's  a  crust  less  for  yourself.  Re- 
ligion don't  p'int  that  way  to  her,  and  she 
ain't  got  it  natural.  I  take  it  she  ain't 
Methody?" 

Ena  shook  her  head. 

"I  thought  not.  Likely  she  belongs  to  a 
church  where  you  have  to  have  silk  linin's 
to  your  skirt  afore  you  can  attend.  The 
way  some  folks  worship  is  clear  insultin'  to 
the  Lord.  Old  Marthy  Swiggs  down  the 
road  here  ain't  had  no  proper  use  for  prayer 
since  she  had  a  bit  o'  money  left  her,  and 
could  come  to  meetin'  with  flowers  and  fol- 
de-rols  in  her  bonnet.  It's  wonderful  how 
some  folks  is  willin'  to  lose  their  chance  o' 
33 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

salvation  for  a  bit  o'  vanity.  I'm  hopin' 
your  clothes  don't  make  you  feel  that  way, 
Ena." 

Ena  shook  her  head  decisively,  and  Mrs. 
McLane  turned  away  as  if  her  chief  doubt 
had  been  set  at  rest. 

"Just  as  soon  as  they  get  to  the  wearin' 
out  p'int  you  can  hand  'em  over  to  me  for 
my  piece-quilts.  I've  made  one  for  every 
child  I've  got,  and  I'll  likely  set  about  one 
for  you.  Now  I'm  going  down  to  wash  the 
dishes,  seein'  they've  been  settin'  around 
hours.  If  Loosher  happened  in,  which 
thank  the  Lord  she  ain't  likely  to,  she'd 
sorter  sniff  with  pleasure  at  catchin'  that 
pan  o'  dishes.  I  know  the  expression  of 
her  face  so  well  I  can  tell  it  by  lookin'  at 
the  back  of  her  head." 

Mrs.  McLane  rattled  downstairs,  but  Ena 
remained  in  the  bedroom,  looking  absently 
at  the  pretty  clothes  strewn  around  her 
trunk.  The  fact  of  their  comparative  use- 
lessness  had  been  forced  upon  her  by  Mrs. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

McLane's  pungent  criticisms.  Ena  stirred 
uneasily  at  the  remembrance,  and  could 
think  of  no  way  out  of  the  situation.  Things 
would  have  to  be  adapted,  not  changed. 
She  folded  away  the  clothes  with  a  thought- 
ful face,  listening  first  to  Mrs.  McLane's 
ceaseless  admonishings  in  the  kitchen  below, 
and  then  to  Ross  nailing  up  rough  deal 
bookshelves  in  the  little  garret  he  had 
claimed  for  his  own.  The  last  sound  was 
inspirational,  and  by-and-by  she  stole  in  to 
the  boy.  He  took  no  notice  of  her,  and  it 
was  not  until  he  had  finished  that  she  went 
up  to  him.  Quite  silently  they  stood  to- 
gether, viewing  his  work — scantily  filled 
shelves  which  were  to  be  his  avenue  to 
heights  he  meant  to  attain. 

In  a  flash  Ena  saw  the  way  of  the  boy's 
dreams  opened  to  her,  and  her  hand  stole 
up  to  his  shoulder.  He  stood  heavily,  a  dull 
flush  mounting  to  his  cheek,  but  he  under- 
stood; and  thus,  without  a  word,  or  further 
sign,  the  compact  of  their  friendship  was 
sealed  for  good. 

35 


UNCLE  ED'S  farm  (it  was  usually 
called  Aunt  Loosher's)  lay  some 
three  miles  from  the  McLane  house,  and 
was  still  further  isolated  from  town  and 
neighbours.  The  house  faced  a  wooded  ra- 
vine of  great  beauty,  through  which  the 
river  ran,  and  all  around  the  earth  billowed 
and  undulated  until  it  seemed  as  if  the  farm 
were  shut  all  by  itself  into  the  little  valley. 
Here  Lucia  van  Orme  and  her  husband 
had  lived  and  worked  since  they  were  re- 
spectively twenty  and  twenty-one.  No  chil- 
dren had  ever  been  born  to  them,  and,  con- 
trary to  Mrs.  McLane's  advice,  they  had 
never  adopted  any.  Uncle  Ed  had  once 
sided  with  his  sister-in-law  in  abusing  the 
empty  door-yard,  and  even  suggested  a  visit 
to  an  orphanage;  but  after  the  departure  of 
Mrs.  McLane  on  that  occasion  Aunt 
Loosher  had  "opened  up  her  mind"  to  him, 
36 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

and  for  ever  afterwards  he  had  maintained 
a  discreet  silence  when  the  subject  was  men- 
tioned. Mrs.  McLane,  who  never  gave  up 
the  hope  of  reforming  those  in  error,  and 
dearly  loved  a  conversion  of  any  sort,  did 
not  scruple  to  insist  on  her  views,  even 
though  she  found  they  met  with  disfavour. 
Uncle  Ed  saw  this  in  time,  and  used  to  go 
out  to  the  barn  when  the  subject  came  up. 
Lucia  van  Orme  was  now  a  woman  of 
fifty,  unusually  tall  and  gaunt,  with  a  thin 
sharp  face  that  seemed  to  match  her  figure. 
A  life  of  strenuous  work  had  brought  on 
prematurely  the  infirmities  that  belong  to 
age,  and  for  the  last  three  years  she  had 
complained  daily  at  the  breakfast-table  con- 
cerning the  crippled  state  of  her  knees. 
Uncle  Ed  had  listened  and  commented  as 
regularly  as  he  had  sugared  his  oatmeal,  and 
passed  his  opinion  on  the  weather;  but  he 
never  had  any  suggestions  to  make.  All 
that  sort  of  thing  had  to  come  from  Aunt 
Loosher. 

37 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

It  was  the  Tuesday  following  Ena's  ar- 
rival that  a  sort  of  explosion  took  place  at 
the  Van  Orme  breakfast-table.  Aunt 
Loosher  sat  nearer  the  stove  than  usual,  the 
little  black  shawl  she  wore  winter  and  sum- 
mer round  her  shoulders,  an  extra  one 
wrapped  round  her  knees.  She  had  an- 
nounced herself  lamer  than  ever  on  this  par- 
ticular morning. 

"And  likely  to  keep  so,  with  the  winter 
comin'  on,"  she  complained  to  Uncle  Ed,  as 
Dale  finished  his  breakfast  and  went  out. 
"You  don't  know  nothin'  about  what  I  suf- 
fer with  these  knees  o'  mine;  no  one  don't. 
Ju  thinks  she  has  a  time  with  her  feet,  but 
she  ain't  got  the  first  idea  what  a  tormentin' 
time  I  have  with  my  limbs.  There'll  have 
to  be  somethin'  done  in  the  way  o'  helpin' 
me,  or  else  I  shall  give  out  twenty  years 
afore  my  time." 

"Anythin'  I  can  do?" 

"You  can't  do  nothin'."  Aunt  Loosher 
looked  at  her  husband  witheringly.  "Your 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

work  lays  outside,  and  I'm  talking  about  the 
inside — the  cookin',  and  cleanin',  and  things 
that  give  me  so  many  steps.  .  If  I  could 
have  a  rest-up  this  winter  I'd  be  fresh  for 
the  spring,  yet  I  hate  to  pay  out  the  money 
a  hired  girl  wants,  and  what's  more,  I  won't. 
I  ain't  struggled  all  my  life  to  fill  some- 
body else's  pockets,  so  that's  all  there  is  to 
it.  What  I've  been  thinkin'  about  will  help 
Ju.  She  don't  deserve  it  with  her  foolish- 
ness, but  I  ain't  one  to  look  over  a  Christian 
act  when  I  see  it  right  in  my  path.  I'll 
take  that  girl  she's  brought  over  from  Cal- 
iforny  off  her  hands." 

The  announcement  was  made  with  due 
impressiveness.  Aunt  Loosher  folded  her 
hands  and  waited  for  words  of  praise,  but 
Uncle  Ed,  taken  completely  unawares,  did 
not  notice  what  was  expected  of  him.  The 
only  thing  that  appealed  to  him  was  the  fact 
that  his  wife  seemed  to  have  yielded  to 
her  sister's  coaxing  at  last,  and  he  dimly 
wondered  if  the  state  of  Aunt  Loosher's 
39 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

knees    had    begun    to    affect    her    head. 

"I  say  I'll  take  the  girl  off  Ju's  hands," 
continued  Aunt  Loosher  with  quiet  empha- 
sis, "and  then  she  can't  never  say  but  what 
I  give  her  a  lift  up  once  at  least.  It  ain't 
the  lesson  that  ought  to  be  taught  her  for 
doin'  the  thing.  Ju's  always  been  the  one 
to  take  a  step  for'ard  and  two  back'ard,  in 
the  way  o'  speakin',  but  this  time  I  ain't 
goin'  to  call  her  down  so  pertickler  for  it. 
Ena  can  come  here  to  work,  and  we  shall 
be  savin'  a  hired  girl's  wages."  There  was 
another  pause.  Uncle  Ed  laced  his  shoes, 
feeling  bewilderment  in  his  very  finger-tips. 
"We  shall  be  savin'  and  gettin'  at  the  same 
time,"  continued  Aunt  Loosher,  "and  the 
sooner  she's  here  the  better.  Ju's  sendin' 
her  and  Ross  over  this  mornin',  seein'  as  I 
couldn't  get  there  Sunday,  and  so  I'll 
have  a  chance  to  look  her  over  and  sorter 
pick  my  words  out  ready.  What  d'you 
say?" 

The  last  words  were  such  a  concession  that 
40 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Uncle  Ed  reddened  a  little  as  he  put  on  his 
out-door  coat. 

"I'd  like  to  have  the  girl  here,"  he  an- 
swered. "You  do  the  fixin'  up  of  it, 
Loosher,"  he  added  guardedly,  "and  then 
we  can  see  about  findin'  out  how  to  make 
her  sorter  happy  and  contented  here. 
What'll  Dale  say?" 

"Dale  ain't  nothin'  to  do  with  it,  save 
feelin'  his  ma's  riddanced  of  an  extry  load 
she  couldn't  very  well  bear.  It  crossed  my 
head  that  havin'  the  boy  and  girl  together 
might  make  'em  inclined  for  a  bit  o'  gossip 
and  laziness,  but  I  think  I  can  sit  on  that 
all  right.  Now  you  be  in  at  twelve  to  the 
minute.  I've  got  a  busy  forenoon,  and  no 
time  to  hang  round  waitin'  for  dinner  so 
much  as  a  second." 

All  that  morning  Aunt  Loosher  worked 
with  an  air  of  subdued  triumph,  as  one  sees 
in  secret  the  solving  of  a  riddle.  Towards 
eleven  o'clock  she  went  into  the  front  par- 
lour and  pulled  up  the  shades — a  strictly 
41 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

unusual  proceeding,  the  sunlight  being 
rigidly  excluded  on  account  of  the  rag  car- 
pet. The  ravine  road  came  into  view  now, 
and  Aunt  Loosher  peered  out  narrowly,  but 
without  result. 

"Likely  they're  takin'  the  walk  easy,  but 
Ross'll  surely  have  sense  to  be  on  time  for 
dinner,  and  me  cookin'  chicken  too!  I'll 
warrant  the  girl'll  feel  it's  goin'  to  be  a  good 
change  for  her.  This  here  parlour  puts  Ju's 
all  to  shame.  She  ain't  got  never  a  crayon 
o'  the  fam'ly  on  her  walls,  and  I've  got  a 
hull  row.  Folks  ought  to  have  one  good 
room,  even  if  they  don't  never  use  it.  This 
carpet  ain't  no  more  faded  than  the  day 
I  put  it  down,  thanks  to  the  care  I've  took 
of  it.  Lordy!" 

Aunt  Loosher  was  rarely  taken  off  her 
guard,  but  now  she  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the 
middle  of  the  rag  carpet,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  boy  and  girl  who  had  approached  un- 
seen, and  were  nearing  the  yard-gate. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  Aunt  Loosher  put 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

her  hands  on  her  hips  and  went  nearer  the 
window,  the  better  to  examine  Ena's  blue 
muslin  figure  and  flying  curls.  Such  a 
dainty  apparition  had  not  been  seen  on  the 
ravine  road  since  the  frame  house  was  built, 
and  Aunt  Loosher's  face  soured  into  a 
hundred  wrinkles  as  she  watched.  "My 
land  o'  liberty !  Have  I  been  takin'  comfort 
at  the  thought  o'  havin'  such  a  child  as  that 
around,  scrubbin'  floors  and  doin'  for  me? 
It's  just  like  Ju's  meanness  to  sit  plank 
down  on  any  o'  my  schemes,  whether  she 
knows  'em  or  not,  and  I'll  wager  she  dressed 
the  child  up  in  her  good  clothes  just  to  be 
tormentin'  to  me.  My!  but  if  I  can  get  a 
word  with  Ed  van  Orme  afore  dinner,  I'll 
warn  him  not  to  let  a  word  out  o'  his  head 
o'  what  I  said  this  mornin'.  Else  I'm 
skeered  he'll  be  just  rattle-brained  enough 
to  do  it,  and  I'll  have  a  time  explainin'  my 
knees  are  some  better  when  they  ain't." 

Even  an  hour  later,  when  the  whole  family 
43 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

were  seated  at  dinner  and  the  conversation 
had  grown  less  restrained,  Aunt  Loosher 
had  not  recovered  her  equanimity.  Her  thin 
figure,  in  the  grey  calico  wrapper,  looked 
uncompromising,  and  gave  off  an  atmos- 
phere of  being  provoked,  which  was  very 
unsatisfying.  Ena  tried  to  win  smiles  in 
vain,  and  at  last  turned  her  attention  to 
Uncle  Ed. 

The  latter  had  been  duly  caught  on  the 
back  porch  when  coming  in  to  dinner  and 
hurriedly  instructed  to  maintain  silence. 

"She's  just  a  bit  o'  blue  muslin,"  Aunt 
Loosher  had  whispered  tragically,  "and  no 
more  good  for  a  kitchen  than  an  eagle  for  a 
back-yard.  Ju's  been  clean  imposed  on,  and 
I'm  goin'  over  to  tell  her  so." 

But,  in  spite  of  all,  Uncle  Ed  grew  wist- 
ful at  the  dinner-table,  when  he  realized  that 
his  hope  of  the  morning  was  already  broken ; 
and  when,  after  the  meal  was  over,  Ena 
helped  to  clear  off  the  table  and  went  up 
quite  naturally  to  wipe  the  dishes,  he  won- 
44 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

dered  if  Loosher  would  not  see  the  child  was 
adaptable,  and  ready  to  face  her  change  of 
circumstances  in  a  common-sense  way. 

But  Aunt  Loosher,  washing  the  dishes, 
had  no  such  idea  at  all.  When  the  work 
was  done  up,  and  the  grey  calico  wrapper 
changed  for  a  brown  one  of  similar  material 
and  structure,  she  went  into  the  parlour, 
where  Ross,  who  knew  his  manners,  was 
showing  Ena  the  family  album. 

"We  don't  use  the  front  parlour  for  com- 
mon." Aunt  Loosher  straightened  a  cro- 
cheted "tidy"  and  lowered  the  shades  a 
trifle.  "I  just  pulled  these  up  to  watch  you 
two  come  down  the  ravine  road,  and  some 
way  my  eyes  wasn't  good  or  you  stole  a 
march  on  me.  P'raps  you  thought  I 
greeted  you  surprised-like,  Ena.  You 
seemed  to  come  on  me  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
I  ain't  one  to  gather  my  wits  easy,  Then 
my  knees  bother  me  all  the  time,  and  some 
days  my  stomach  don't  behave  good.  If  I 
was  a  bit  fleshier  I  should  feel  better,  but 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

I'm  around  all  the  time,  and  can't  take 
things  as  easy-goin'  as  Ju  does.  That  tin- 
type you're  lookin'  at  is  a  picture  o'  me  when 
I  was  real  young,  and  I  reckon  I  ain't 
changed  as  much  as  you  might  think." 

"Ma  says  you  keep  your  figure  better 
than  most  of  the  family,"  said  Ross  oblig- 
ingly. 

"I  ain't  never  heer'd  you  ma  say  30," 
said  Aunt  Loosher,  more  pleasantly  than 
she  had  yet  spoken,  "but  I  know  it's  so.  I 
was  always  counted  pretty  smart-lookin' 
when  I  was  young,  and  when  I  have  on  my 
good  dress  it  makes  a  diff'rence  to  me  you 
wouldn't  think  for.  I  wish  I  could  wear  it 
more,  but  there  ain't  any  chances,  'cept  with 
a  funeral,  or  somethin'  o'  that  sort.  I  had 
it  made  nine  years  ago  last  fall,  when  old 
man  Sorensen  died  lingerin'  with  cancer, 
and  it's  real  becomin'.  You'll  be  over  to  see 
me  now  and  again,  Ena,  and  some  day  I'll 
get  it  out  and  show  you.  When  I  was  a 
young  girl  no  one  round  these  parts  had 
46 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

smarter  fixin's  'n  me — I  warn't  all  give  up 
to  pork  and  calico  like  I  am  now." 

Ena's  blue  eyes  were  interested,  but  she 
said  nothing,  and  Aunt  Loosher  put  a 
mental  mark  to  her  credit  that  she  was  a 
polite  listener,  and  not  a  talkative  child. 

"When  you've  got  your  own  home,  and 
workin'  a  farm,  you  ain't  got  time  to  think 
o'  makin'  yourself  smart,  and  I've  always 
been  savin',  too,  never  runnin'  no  risk  o' 
havin'  to  be  supported  by  someone  else  some 
day.  I  ain't  had  no  young  ones  o'  my  own, 
but  I  reckon  I  could  give  good  advice  to 
anybody  else  as  wanted  it."  Aunt  Loosher 
looked  from  the  boy  to  the  girl  as  if  ex- 
pecting an  immediate  demand.  "Dale  here 
says  he's  learnt  quite  a  few  things  by  notin' 
my  ways  o'  doin',  and  I'm  real  glad  he  has. 
I  told  Ju  that,  but  she  snapped  me  up  un- 
common quick.  Ross,  you  can  go  down  cel- 
lar and  fetch  up  some  apples — some  o' 
them  Wealthies  you'll  find  down  there,  for 
they  rot  the  quickest.  And  if  you're  so 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

minded  you  can  take  a  small  basketful 
home  to  your  ma,  for  she  ain't  a  tree  o'  that 
sort  on  the  place,  though  I  begged  her  to 
plant  a  couple  the.  year  Dick  was  born.  I 
do  believe  if  anyone  but  me  had  persuaded 
Ju  she'd  ha'  done  it,  but  no,  sir!  she  warn't 
goin'  to  have  me  know  best!"  and  Aunt 
Loosher  laughed  softly  at  some  recollection 
she  did  not  reveal. 

When  the  apples  were  eaten,  a  tour  of  the 
house  followed,  from  the  cellar  up.  This 
took  some  time,  for  most  of  the  household 
treasures  were  pointed  out,  and  the  explana- 
tion of  their  origin  given  at  length.  Ross, 
to  whom  nothing  was  new,  followed  a  little 
impatiently,  a  sense  of  loyalty  to  Ena  de- 
taining him.  To  leave  her  alone  with  Aunt 
Loosher's  tongue  at  full  tide  seemed  an  in- 
justice. Already  she  looked  a  little  be- 
wildered. 

A  diversion  came  when  they  reached  the 
garret,  and  Aunt  Loosher  suddenly  darted 
to  the  window.  "I  declare  to  goodness 
48 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

there's  another  o'  them  tormentin'  pedlars 
just  drove  in  the  back-yard.  I  never  seem 
to  get  up  here  and  go  to  nosin'  round  a  little 
and  enjoyin'  myself  but  what  one  o'  them 
fellers  comes  along.  Seems  like  they  know 
where  I  am  and  want  to  shout  'rags'  at  me. 
If  it  was  Ju  she'd  have  'em  dump  their 
stuff  so's  she  could  see  what  was  good  for 
carpet-rags,  but  that  ain't  my  way.  Guess 
I'll  have  to  go  clear  down  and  send  him  off; 
he  wouldn't  march  so  quick  for  no  one  else." 
The  garret  door  shut,  but  only  for  a  few 
moments.  Aunt  Loosher  reappeared,  gasp- 
ing a  little  for  breath.  "I'm  just  comin'  up 
to  show  Ena  my  carpet-rags.  I  got  nine 
balls  sewed  since  you  were  here  last,  Ross, 
and  two  of  'em  coloured.  You  can  tell  your 
ma  that.  Well,  it  looks  like  some  steady 
rain  afore  night,  and  maybe  you  two  had 
best  start  for  home  in  good  time,  though 
you've  only  got  a  matter  o'  three  mile  to 
walk.  You  tell  your  ma  we're  goin'  to  hitch 
up  and  come  over  Sunday  if  so  be  my 
49 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

knees'll  let  me.  I  got  lots  to  talk  to  her 
about" — there  was  a  quick  glance  at  Ena, 
which  only  Ross  saw — "and,  'sides  that,  I 
guess  she'd  best  plan  up  for  sure  about  that 
quiltin'-bee  she  talks  o'  havin',  if  she  wants 
to  get  her  new  comforters  ready  afore  snow 
flies.  I'm  glad  you  brought  a  coat  with  you 
against  evenin',  Ena;  that  blue  dress's  tur- 
rible  frail  for  this  sort  o'  weather,  Indian 
summer  bein'  most  gone.  It  ain't  all  sun 
where  you  live  now";  and  as  the  children 
stepped  off  the  porch  Aunt  Loosher  shook 
her  head  in  a  way  calculated  to  bring  fore- 
bodings to  the  sternest  heart.  She  truly 
felt  that  so  much  buoyancy,  when  combined 
with  blue  muslin,  ought  to  receive  a  sobering 
suggestion  for  the  last. 

Aunt  Loosher  was  frying  potatoes  in  the 
kitchen  when  Uncle  Ed  came  in  that  night, 
and  she  saw  him  give  a  quick  glance  round 
as  he  hung  up  his  coat,  and  she  heard  him 
sigh.  The  sound  exasperated  her. 

"Maybe  you  thought  that  fly-away  child'd 
50 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

come  dancin'  out  to  meet  you,  but  no  such 
thing  ain't  goin'  to  happen.  It  takes  Ju  to 
hamper  herself  with  such  as  that.  It  seems 
too  bad,  just  the  same,  that  I  should  be  kep' 
standin'  round  on  my  feet  when  only  this 
mornin'  there  seemed  the  chance  o'  help 


comin'." 


"Dale  and  me  thought  Ena  seemed  real 
handy,"  ventured  Uncle  Ed. 

"Handy  nothin'.  Children  that's  been 
dressed  up  like  that  always  are  just  fit  to 
sit  round  on  parlour  chairs  and  be  waited  on. 
I  can  see  you're  sorter  pinin'  to  fix  me  up 
with  fresh  work,  but  I've  got  my  head  stuck 
on  steady,  'spite  o'  you  and  Ju.  You  can 
try  your  best,  but  it  won't  work." 

Uncle  Ed  did  not  try  to  make  it  any 
more.  He  went  to  bed  early;  but  Aunt 
Loosher  sat  up  late,  planning  a  whole  series 
of  caustic  remarks  which  she  intended  to 
deliver  to  Mrs.  McLane  the  very  next  time 
she  happened  to  see  her. 


51 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  WEEK  later  the  first  touch  of  cold 
weather  came,  and  Mrs.  McLane,  who 
possessed  a  special  faculty  for  leaving  things 
at  loose  ends,  and  an  unreasoning  faith  in 
the  last  minute,  began  to  think  hurriedly  of 
the  quilting-bee  she  had  mentioned  on  several 
occasions. 

Aunt  Loosher  had  not  arrived  on  the  Sun- 
day, having  sent  word  by  Dale  that  her 
knees  were  not  equal  to  it.  Dale  had  de- 
livered the  message  phlegmatically,  and  Mrs. 
McLane  had  sniffed  as  she  washed  her  milk- 
pans. 

"I  guess  she  could  come  if  she  wanted 
to,  but  she  thinks  more  o'  posin'  as  a  sorter 
invalid  than  anythin'  else.  It  was  always 
Loosher's  way  to  try  to  draw  attention  to 
herself.  Now  if  she  had  my  feet  she  might 
have  some  call  to  complain.  What  d'you 
52 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

think  of  Loosher's  ailments  yourself, 
Dale?" 

But  Dale  had  no  opinion  to  give,  and  Mrs. 
McLane  began  to  think  she  had  a  stupid  one 
in  the  family. 

"Have  the  bee,  and  don't  trouble  to  send 
word  to  Aunt  Loosher,"  Dick  advised,  when 
the  subject  came  up  at  the  dinner- table. 
"If  she's  sick  she  can't  come,  and  you  say 
you  want  the  work  done  pretty  badly." 

"I  do,"  Mrs.  McLane  admitted. 

"You'll  get  on  just  as  quick  without  her." 
Dick  kept  all  the  intelligible  part  of  his  face 
in  his  coffee-cup  as  he  spoke.  "Now  you 
take  my  advice  for  once,  ma." 

"I  believe  I  will,"  conceded  Mrs.  McLane, 
a  light  in  her  eye  which  her  children  did  not 
entirely  misunderstand. 

This  being  arranged  upon,  it  was  a  dis- 
tinct surprise,  on  the  afternoon  set  for  the 
bee,  to  see  Aunt  Loosher  drive  into  the  yard. 
The  remains  of  an  early  dinner  were  being 
cleared  away  in  the  kitchen  when  the  twins 
53 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

rushed  to  the  back  steps  and  shouted  the 
news. 

"Not  only  come,  but  the  first  here,"  so- 
liloquised Mrs.  McLane,  a  little  ungra- 
ciously. Then  she  went  to  the  door  just  as 
the  buggy  drew  up  in  front  of  it. 

"Thought  you  was  fairly  sick  abed  with 
them  knees  o'  yourn,  Loosher.  My!  you've 
give  me  a  surprise." 

Aunt  Loosher  was  descending  from  the 
buggy  with  a  certain  air  of  infirmity. 

"George  Sorensen  was  by  yest'day,  and 
he  told  me  you'd  planned  the  quiltin'  for  this 
afternoon,  and  I  just  told  Ed  I  was  comin', 
no  matter  how  I  felt,"  Aunt  Loosher 
responded,  giving  the  reins  to  the  twins. 
"It  seemed  clear  provokin'  that  I  shouldn't 
get  over  to  help  you." 

"You're  the  first  to  get  here."  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane pushed  a  chair  nearer  the  stove,  and 
looked  into  the  coffee-pot.  "Set  right  down 
by  the  stove  and  git  warm.  Seems  as  if 
we've  got  a  real  cold  spell  after  the  nice 
54 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

weather  we've  had.  So  you're  some 
better?" 

"A  little,"  Aunt  Loosher  acknowledged, 
stirring  the  cup  of  coffee  placed  at  the  back 
of  the  stove.  "My!  this  coffee  tastes  real 
good,  Ju.  You  always  had  a  sort  o'  knack 
with  coffee."  . 

Mrs.  McLane  looked  mollified.  Aunt 
Loosher  peered  round. 

"Where's  Ena?" 

"You  won't  see  nothin'  o'  her  for  a  while. 
She's  to  school  with  Ross.  I  ought  to  ha' 
made  the  twins  go,  too,  but  Jerry  woke 
cryin'  with  the  toothache  this  mornin',  and 
Dan  won't  never  go  if  Jerry  ain't  along. 
Them  two  young  ones  stick  together  all  the 
time,  and  they're  in  all  the  mischief  they  can 
find." 

"To  school  with  Ross!"  Aunt  Loosher 
heard  only  the  first  part  of  the  sentence. 
"Did  she  come  out  here  to  get  her  education, 
Ju?" 

"Guess  she's  got  it  a'ready — more'ri  she'll 
55 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

find  at  the  district  school — but  she  and  Ross 
has  took  wonderful  to  each  other,  and  he 
wants  her  along.  Ross  is  gettin'  real 
smart  with  his  books,  and  she  helps  him 
nights." 

"Seein'  you've  took  her  when  you  hadn't 
ought  I'd  make  some  use  o'  her."  Aunt 
Loosher  drew  the  little  black  shawl  closer 
round  her  shoulders  and  fingered  it  nerv- 
ously. A  very  provoking  idea  had  occurred 
to  her  only  that  morning,  and  she  was  to 
know  no  peace  until  her  doubts  were  settled. 

"I'd  make  some  use  o'  her,"  she  repeated 
with  asperity.  "What's  your  notion  about 
the  girl,  Ju?" 

"She's  real  nice  spoken,  and  wants  to  be 
helpful  all  she  can.  I  ain't  never  had  no 
girl  round  the  place,  and  it  seems  kind  o' 

queer,  but "  Here  Mrs.  McLane 

stopped  to  throw  out  a  pan  of  dish-water, 
and  Aunt  Loosher  strained  forward,  her 
eyes  narrowed  to  slits  of  suspicion. 

"If  you've  brought  her  out  here  with  any 
56 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

idea  o'  my  adoptin'  her — if  you  done  it 
a-purpose,  Ju 

"I  ain't  been  havin'  no  such  notion."  Mrs. 
McLane  rattled  the  stove  lids  threateningly. 
"Don't  you  get  any  thinner  than  you  are 
a'ready,  worryin'  over  that,  for  you  can't 
afford  to  lose  any  flesh.  I  know  you're  real 
mad  to  think  she's  here,  but  it's  been  my 
motto  always  to  give  the  helpin'  hand  to 
whatever  come  along  needin'  it,  and  I  ain't 
goin'  to  depart  from  my  ways  for  nobody's 
croakin's.  Now  we've  got  it  right  out  in 
the  beginnin',  Loosher,  and  if  you've  rested 
up  we  can  go  in  the  sittin'-room  and  begin." 

There  was  such  an  air  of  robust  defiance 
about  Mrs.  McLane  that  Aunt  Loosher 
swallowed  an  answer  and  meekly  followed 
her  sister  to  the  scene  of  activity,  feeling  it 
best  to  defer  some  of  her  intended  remarks. 

"There's   Marthy    Swiggs   comin'   now," 

said  Mrs.  McLane,  taking  observations  at 

the  window.     "And  she's  brought  Mandy 

Perkins  along,  same  as  I  asked,     Prue  ain't 

57 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

with  'em,  and  I'll  bet  she's  a-bed  with  her 
insides  again.  Seems  as  if  no  one  don't 
understand  what's  the  matter  with  Prue. 
She's  been  doctorin'  for  years,  and  took 
every  patent  medicine  she  ever  seen  adver- 
tised, and  yet  she  don't  get  no  better." 

"Ed  ain't  no  great  believer  in  patent  medi- 
cines," remarked  Aunt  Loosher. 

"But  I  am,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  firmly. 
"The  men  who  makes  'em  knows  the  insides 
up  and  down.  There's  stuff  put  up  for 
everythin'  that  ails  you,  and  if  you  don't 
know  rightly  what  it  is,  you  best  keep  tryin' 
the  different  dopes,  and  you're  bound  to  hit 
it  in  time.  Prue  has  got  forty-'leven  bottles 
on  her  pantry  shelf,  but  she  ain't  been  lucky 
in  strikin'  the  right  kind  yet.  She  warn't 
in  very  good  spirits  when  I  last  seen  her,  but 
I  told  her  to  cheer  up  and  keep  right  on.  It 
ain't  no  good  givin'  in  now,  when  she's  been 

at  it  as  long  as  four  years "  and  Mrs. 

McLane  hurried  out  to  meet  her  guests. 

Mandy  Perkins  was  considered  the  most 
58 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

expert  quilter  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  this 
may  have  accounted  for  her  slight  air  of 
superiority.  Misfortune  had  visited  her  in 
another  way,  however,  since  for  something 
like  ten  years  she  had  been  unable  to  speak 
above  a  whisper.  Nobody  quite  knew  why, 
though  disagreeable  people  had  been  heard 
to  suggest  that  the  well-known  garrulity  of 
her  youth  had  something  to  do  with  it.  The 
local  doctors  had  failed  to  help  her,  and 
Mandy's  horror  of  steam-cars  prevented  her 
going  farther  afield  for  information.  So 
the  whisper  remained. 

Nobody  ever  felt  ill  at  ease  in  the  McLane 
house,  and  before  two  minutes  had  passed 
wraps  were  off  and  work  begun.  Marthy 
Swiggs  had  come  in  her  bonnet  with  the 
plum-coloured  rose  in  it,  and  this  she  laid  in 
a  conspicuous  position  on  the  side-table. 
Mrs.  McLane  promptly  covered  it  with  a 
Farmer's  Journal. 

"If  I  don't  do  that  the  rest  of  us'll  get 
to  envyin'  you,  Marthy,"  she  explained,  the 
59 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice  that  her  neigh- 
bours knew  and  feared.  "You  must  ha' 
had  more  money  left  you  than  the  rest  of  us 
guessed  at,  for  I  ain't  never  seen  a  shawl 
over  your  head  since  your  Uncle  Jake  died." 

"I've  wanted  to  wear  hats  ever  since  I 
were  ten  years  old,"  said  Marthy  content- 
edly, "and  I've  got  'em  now.  Seems  like 
I  can't  think  enough  o'  Uncle  Jake.  You 
know  he  left  a  hundred  dollars  for  his  tomb- 
stone, but  I  added  fifty  more  and  now  he's 
got  a  beauty." 

"Seems  I'd  use  money  for  somethin'  else 
than  hats  and  tombstones,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane.  "It's  my  way  to  look  at  what  can 
be  done  without  in  the  manner  o'  showin' 
off.  The  hat  I  wear  to  meetin'  I've  had  since 
six  year  ago  last  Easter,  and  I  wear  it  back, 
front,  or  sides,  accordin'  to  what  fashion  is, 
and  no  one's  ever  been  the  better  nor  worse 
for  it.  I'd  feel  plumb  uncomfortable  in 
anythin'  else  now,  so  its  bein'  shabby  don't 
worry  me  none.  My!  you're  quicker'n  ever 
60 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

with  your  fingers,  Mandy.  I  guess  you've 
been  quiltin'  for  yourself  some  lately." 

"Just  a  bit,"  Mandy  whispered  hurriedly. 
Her  whispers  were  always  very  rapid,  as  if 
she  feared  her  remarks  would  be  prema- 
turely drowned  by  the  louder  voices  of  her 
companions.  "Prue  and  I've  got  to  be  busy 
sewin'  all  winter." 

"Prue  ain't  here,"  suggested  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane. 

"It's  one  o'  her  bad  days.  She  took  on  a 
good  bit  about  not  bein'  able  to  come,  but 
she's  gettin'  used  to  them  sick  spells.  It 
makes  it  harder  for  me.  Two  women 
workin'  the  farm  and  just  one  hired  man 
ain't  none  too  much.  I  hold  it  ain't  no  good 
killin'  yourself,  but  it's  hard  to  tell  where 
to  stop  when  things  has  got  to  be  done." 

"You  never  was  one  to  look  on  the  cheer- 
ful side,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "Even 
though  you  and  Prue  ain't  married,  you've 
got  a  good  livin'  with  your  farm,  and  you 
two  can  be  as  independent  as  you  please.  I 
61 


•THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

wonder  you  ain't  never  adopted  a  child." 

Aunt  Loosher  recognised  the  thrust. 

"Mandy  maybe  don't  lean  that  way,"  she 
said.  "When  she's  cleaned  up  now,  she's 
cleaned  up,  but  with  a  young  one  round  her 
heels  she  would  be  doin'  all  the  time,  and 
no  gettin'  tidy  to  keep  so." 

"That  don't  never  bother  me  none,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  McLane  complacently,  glancing 
round  the  untidy  room.  "I  ain't  never  been 
one  to  finnick.  What  I  can't  get  done  one 
day  goes  over  to  the  next,  and  it  don't  hinder 
my  sleep  any.  Ena's  took  to  tidyin'  up 
quite  a  bit,  but  I  guess  she'll  soon  find  out 
it  don't  pay.  Anybody  that's  got  twin 
boys  knows  they  make  an  everlastin' 
muss." 

Mrs.  McLane  expected  the  allusion  to 
Ena  would  bring  a  storm  of  questions,  and 
she  was  not  mistaken.  A  round  of  prelimi- 
nary coughs  followed,  and  then  a  succes- 
sion of  queries  began,  all  delicately  put,  for 
everyone  present  knew  the  temperament  of 
62 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

the  hostess.  But  no  amount  of  insinuation 
conquered  Mrs.  McLane.  She  knew  her 
stronghold  was  silence,  and  she  maintained 
it.  When  everyone  had  asked  something, 
she  looked  across  the  room  with  a  provoking 
smile.  "Guess  Loosher  was  talkin'  some  to 
you,  Mandy!" 

"Loosher 's  right,  and  I  ain't  never 
thought  o'  young  ones,"  whispered  Mandy, 
obeying  the  suggestion  nervously.  "Prue 
couldn't  stand -it,  anyway,  with  her  insides 
gettin'  worse  steady.  We  ain't  all  like  you, 
Ju." 

"Thank  the  Lord  I  was  made  easy-going," 
agreed  Mrs.  McLane.  "I  can  just  see  the 
thing  that  the  day  brings  and  nothin'  else. 
I  ain't  like  old  man  Davidson  that  used  to 
live  over  by  Pine  Hill,  savin'  and  scratchin' 
year  in  and  year  out,  always  seein'  to-mor- 
row afore  he  seen  to-day,  and  then  dyin'  to- 
day 'stead  o'  to-morrow  same  as  he'd 
planned  for.  Terrible  provokin',  it  must  ha' 
been.  I  heard  from  more  than  one  that  he'd 
63 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

just  warmed  up  to  have  a  real  good  time 
and  go  to  see  his  daughter  Lucindy,  who 
he  hadn't  set  eyes  on  in  nine  year." 

"I  guess  it  was  right,"  agreed  Marthy 
Swiggs.  "Lucindy  come  to  the  funeral, 
and  she  said  he'd  boughten  a  store  suit  to 
go  in,  and  been  all  winter  makin'  a  new- 
fangled kind  o'  boat— a  kinoo,  I  think  she 
said — so's  he  could  make  the  journey  by 
water." 

"I  ain't  got  no  use  for  a  kinoo,"  said  Mrs. 
McLane.  "They're  liable  to  turn  over  any 
minute,  and  be  your  hat  instead  o'  your 
seat." 

"We  surely  get  lessons  from  other  folks' 
ways,"  Marthy  went  on,  "and  it  do  seem 
sometimes  that  it  ain't  no  great  way  for  us 
to  set  so  much  store  by  what's  round  us.  I 
mind  when  Uncle  Jake's  second  wife  died, 
she  was  plumb  tormented  at  the  thought  o' 
havin'  to  leave  her  carpet-rags  behind.  She 
just  tossed  and  tossed,  thinkin'  about  it,  and 
when  she  was  dead  and  in  her  coffin  I  just 
64 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

tucked  a  ball  of  'em  under  her  skirt  to  sorter 
comfort  her." 

"I'll  put  your  bonnets  alongside  you, 
Marthy,"  laughed  Mrs.  McLane. 

"You  don't  need  to,  I'll  die  easy  'cause 
I've  had  'em,"  retorted  Marthy. 

The  work  went  on  apace,  though  conver- 
sation flew  faster.  Ena  came  in  by-and-by, 
looking  round  with  intelligent  but  somewhat 
wondering  eyes.  Aunt  Loosher  fidgeted 
angrily  at  sight  of  her,  but  lingered,  loath 
to  leave  the  scene  of  so  much  animation. 
Even  the  sight  of  Dick's  face  as  he  came  in 
at  intervals  to  fill  the  wood-stove  did  not  dis- 
courage her  flow  of  language. 

"I  meant  to  go  early,  but  I  guess  I'll  stay 
to  supper  after  all,  seein'  as  it's  so  near 
time,"  she  remarked,  as  Mrs.  McLane  went 
into  the  kitchen.  "It  does  a  body  good  to 
have  a  change  sometimes." 

"I  like  this  house  'cause  there's  always 
plenty  doin'  in  it,"  whispered  Mandy. 
"You  can  come  in  any  time,  and  take  your 
65 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

luck,  and  no  one's  going  to  bother  about  you. 
I  sorter  envy  Ju  her  disposition." 

Aunt  Loosher  looked  disapproval. 

"Ju  ain't  got  no  comp'ny  ways,"  she  said, 
in  lowered  tones.  "She  never  had — always 
despised  'em  and  used  to  rate  me  good  and 
plenty  when  we  was  girls  if  I  ever  wanted  to 
show  folks  as  far  as  the  front-room.  I  hold 
with  bein'  societyfied  once  in  awhile,  to  show 
you've  had  a  bringin'  up." 

"We've  all  got  our  ways,"  said  Marthy 
Swiggs  soothingly,  standing  a  little  way  off 
to  view  the  quilt  with  admiration.  "My! 
that  fried  pork  smells  good,  and  Ju  always 
fixes  a  nice  gravy." 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  some  o'  my 
pickled  crab-apples,"  said  Mrs.  McLane, 
from  the  pantry.  "The  boys  say  they  ain't 
never  tasted  nothin'  nicer.  Dale  fairly 
over-did  hisself  when  he  was  here  Sunday. 
I'll  give  you  the  recipe,  if  you  like, 
Loosher." 

"I  got  a  fine  recipe  a'ready,"  said  Aunt 
66 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Loosher,  a  little  huffed.  "Next  time  any  o' 
you  folks  is  over  to  my  place  you  can  try 
'em.  Ed  won't  have  'em  put  up  no  other 
way." 

"Maybe  you  ain't  never  tried,"  suggested 
Mrs.  McLane  annoyingly.  "Supper's 
ready,  I  guess,  and  you  folks  had  best  quit 
work.  We've  done  a  good  afternoon's 
work — more  finished  than  I  thought  for. 
You  do  well  to  laugh,  Dick — you  that  can't 
hold  a  needle  straight  in  your  fingers. 
Maybe  you  think  I  don't  know  what  you're 
grinnin'  for.  Loosher,  you  set  with  your 
back  to  the  stove.  I  just  put  a  fresh  stick 
o'  wood  in  to  get  it  het  up  well.  You  ask 
the  blessin',  Ross — and  give  Ena  some  o' 
that  gravy." 

It  was  a  cheerful  meal,  and  the  kitchen 
seemed  all  the  cosier  because  the  wind  blew 
fiercely  outside,  sweeping  down  from  the 
ridge  right  on  to  the  little  farmhouse. 

Ena  looked  at  the  circle  of  faces  gathered 
round  the  table  with  frank  curiosity,  feeling 
67 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

friends  with  one  and  all  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  strange  types  and  unfamiliar. 
There  was  something  in  their  conversation, 
too,  simple  as  it  was,  which  drew  her  atten- 
tion. They  did  not  talk  as  the  aunt  in  Cal- 
ifornia talked,  but  there  was  something  in 
the  way  they  spoke  of  things  which  showed 
the  ability  to  grapple  with  daily  life  bravely, 
and  the  courage  to  smile  under  adverse  cir- 
cumstances. Their  work-worn  hands  and 
shrewd  seamed  faces  told  a  tale  even  to  one 
as  young  and  inexperienced  as  Ena;  though 
she  did  not  yet  know  that  these  were  some 
of  the  wonderful  women  who  had  tramped 
forth  loyally  with  their  husbands  in  days 
gone  by  to  fight  the  wilderness,  northward 
and  westward,  for  the  living  they  had  got. 
These  were  things  which  she  was  to  know 
afterward,  but  meantime  Ena  felt  a  respect 
creeping  into  her  heart  which  caused  her 
fingers  to  tremble  a  little  as  she  passed  the 
cake  twice  to  Mandy.  She  knew  there  was 
something  in  this  new  element  of  life  she  had 
68 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

entered   which   was   going   to   attract   her. 

"Ena's  sorter  scared  with  so  much  talk 
goin'  on,"  said  Mrs.  McLane,  who  noticed 
an  unusual  gravity  in  her  niece,  and  mis- 
construed it.  "She'll  get  used  to  it  in  time, 
anyway.  M'andy,  I  want  you  to  take  a 
couple  o'  slices  o'  that  cake  home  to  Prue. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  have  no  one  feel  forgotten 
just  because  they  can't  get  here.  Mercy! 
how  wild  it  is  out  to-night." 

A  gust  of  wind  had  come  shrieking  down 
from  the  ridge  again,  and  the  little  company 
pressed  closer  round  the  table  sipping  their 
hot  coffee.  They  knew  the  long  Northern 
winter  was  coming;  already  its  icy  breath 
could  be  felt  in  the  air. 

"Snow's  goin'  to  be  early,"  said  Aunt 
Loosher.  "I  can  feel  it  in  my  knees.  I'm 
glad  none  of  us  are  behind  any  with  the  work. 
Land  sakes!  Winters  seem  longer'n  they 
used  to  do." 

"  I  ain't  got  that  way  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane, beginning  to  refill  the  coffee-cups, 
69 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"I  hold  that  if  you  forget  you're  fifty  you're 
liable  to  keep  thirty-five." 

Yet,  when  the  meal  had  come  to  a  linger- 
ing, gossiping  end,  and  she  stood  on  the  back 
steps  helping  to  pack  her  guests  into  their 
respective  rigs,  she  shivered  a  little.  There 
was  something  bleak  and  desolate  about  the 
hills;  something  lonesome  in  the  look  of  the 
bare,  brown  fields;  and  finding  Ena  on  the 
steps  beside  her  she  gripped  her  hand  as  if 
to  keep  her  from  it.  Together  they  watched 
the  rigs  until  the  last  two  were  disappearing. 

"I'm  glad  the  quiltin's  done,  anyway," 
Mrs.  McLane  called.  "Mandy,  now  take 
care  o'  your  throat,  and  Loosher,  you  wrap 
the  extry  rug  round  your  knees.  Guess 
you're  right  after  all,  and  we're  goin'  to  be 
snow-bound  afore  long!" 


70 


CHAPTER  V 

NEW  YEAR  brought  a  storm  of  un- 
usual severity,  and  Ena  experienced, 
for  the  first  time,  what  genuine  winter 
weather  meant.  Snow  had  been  lying  for 
three  weeks,  but  no  intense  cold  had  come 
with  it;  only  a  white  silence,  which  seemed 
to  envelop  everything. 

"  You've  got  a  real  notion  about  weather 
now,  with  the  thermometer  twenty  below 
zero,"  laughed  Mrs.  McLane,  "and  I  guess 
you  know  why  we  wear  such  an  amazin' 
sight  o'  clothes,  and  talk  all  the  time  about 
keepin'  ourselves  from  freezin'.  There's  a 
sayin'  about  these  parts — 'when  the  days  get 
longer,  the  cold  gets  stronger,'  and  it's  true 
enough.  You've  been  at  the  window  most 
all  day,  Ena." 

"I  like  to  watch  it." 
71 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

'Taint  no  such  great  novelty  to  me,  I 
think  about  any  poor  thing  that  maybe  is  out 
in  it.  Not  that  I'm  afeared  of  a  storm," 
added  Mrs.  McLane  contemptuously. 
"But  I'd  like  to  house  any  belated  thing  in 
such  weather.  I  mind  me  on  just  such  a 
day  as  this,  about  three  year  ago,  I  had  no 
less'n  five  pedlars  over-night." 

Ena  turned  from  the  window  and 
crouched  near  the  stove,  stretching  her  hands 
to  the  warmth. 

"They  was  most  perished,"  continued 
Mrs.  McLane,  stirring  the  soup  vigorously. 
"It  just  kep'  me  busy  all  evenin',  feedin' 
and  lookin'  after  'em,  for  the  last  three 
didn't  strike  the  place  until  after  supper. 
When  it  got  to  as  many  as  five  I  didn't 
know  what  to  think,  but  it  warn't  possible 
to  say  'no'  to  'em,  and  so  I  told  'em  'come  in' 
as  fast  as  they  happened  along.  Dick 
seemed  some  relieved  when  it  'peared  it  was 
goin'  to  stop  at  five.  When  they  was  fed 
up  they  talked  a  spell  round  the  stove  in 
72 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

the  sittin'-room  there,  and  then  I  got  beds 
fixed  up  for  'em  in  the  garret,  on  the  floor. 
A  queer-lookin'  row,  the  boys  said  they 
made." 

"Did  they  know  about  you,  Aunt  June?" 
asked  Ena  innocently. 

"Maybe  they  did,  and  if  so  I'm  just  as 
content,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "The  next 
mornin'  I  took  two  of  'em  with  me  to 
meetin',  and  they  seemed  real  devout,  and 
one  of  'em  went  right  up  and  took  the  anx- 
ious seat  after  meetin'  was  over.  I  could 
see  he  was  real  worked  up  about  his  soul, 
though  Dick  said  'twas  all  done  for  polite- 
ness' sake,  'cause  I'd  give  him  bed  and 
vittles." 

"Dick  loves  a  joke,"  suggested  Ena 
softly. 

"It  warn't  no  subject  to  joke  about. 
Dick  is  turrible  sarcastic  sometimes,  if  things 
don't  strike  him  right,  and  he  couldn't  see 
that  religion  had  took  a  hold  o'  the  man 
good  and  hard.  I've  often  wondered  if  he 
73 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

got    real    converted    afterwards,"    finished 
Mrs.  McLane  musingly. 

The  storm  increased  as  the  night  deep- 
ened, and  by  the  time  supper  was  over  and 
the  family  gathered  round  the  wood-stove 
in  the  living-room,  nothing  could  be  heard 
but  the  shrieking  of  the  wind  among  the 
hills.  Ena  shivered  with  something  like  ap- 
prehension as  she  helped  Mrs.  McLane  sew 
carpet-rags.  Dick  saw  her,  and  laughed. 

"The  house  is  tight,  and  we  shan't  get 
taken  up  in  the  storm,"  he  said.  "We're 
bound  to  get  a  blizzard  or  two,  or  we 
shouldn't  think  it  was  sure-enough  winter 
weather.  You  put  the  carpet-rags  down 
and  come  and  help  me  crack  hickory-nuts." 

"I'd  like  to  peep  at  your  father  in  the 
lumber-camp  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  McLane 
to  the  boys.  "Guess  he'll  have  all  the  cold 
weather  he  wants  for  a  spell,  but  he  ain't 
one  to  complain.  I  misdoubt  but  what  he 
finds  the  winter  pretty  long,  though." 

"I  wish  I'd  gone  instead,"  Dick  said. 
74* 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"You  could  ha'  gone  with  him  if  Dale 
hadn't  been  with  Loosher.  'We'll  see  what 
next  winter  brings,  but  I  don't  believe  Ed'll 
want  to  give  up  Dale  for  anything;  for  the 
matter  o'  work,  the  boy  may  as  well  be  there 
as  here.  I  count  on  you  all  bein'  farmers, 

unless    it's    Ross and    Mrs.McLane 

glanced  with  a  sort  of  speculative  interest 
at  the  bookworm  of  the  family. 

"It's  real  lucky  you  happened  to  come, 
Ena,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  thought. 
"You  help  Ross  quite  a  good  deal  with  his 
books,  and  that  means  a  sight  to  him. 
Guess  they  looked  after  educatin'  you  in 
Californy,  whatever  else  they  forgot. 
Some  day,  when  I'm  real  sure  all  the  home- 
sickness is  out  o'  you,  I'm  goin'  to  have  you 
tell  us  about  things  out  there.  Hark  a 
minute!" 

The  whole  family  suspended  breath,  and 
Mrs.  McLane  rose  excitedly. 

"If  that  warn't  a  sleigh-bell  my  nose  ain't 
on  my  face,"  she  said. 
75 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Pedlars,"  said  Dick  laconically.  "Bring 
'em  all  in,  ma." 

"Whatever  is  out  is  comin'  in,  you  may  be 
sure,"  retorted  Mrs.  McLane.  "Land 
sakes !  Marcus,  is  it  you  ?" 

Ena  looked  up  to  see  a  ragged  figure 
in  the  kitchen  doorway,  icicles  hanging  from 
his  grizzled  beard. 

"It's  Marcus,"  announced  Mrs.  McLane, 
the  peculiar  intonation  in  her  voice  which 
denoted  that  she  would  have  considered  it 
extraordinary  had  her  hospitality  not  been 
taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  "Jerry  and 
Dan,  you  go  help  him  put  up  his  rig — a 
bit  o'  snow  and  wind  won't  hurt  you  any, 
and  the  man's  frozen  a'ready.  Ross,  you 
get  a  bowl  out  o'  the  pantry.  The  soup 
ain't  no  way  cold  yet." 

It  was  some  minutes  before  the  family 
rearranged  themselves,  the  pedlar  in  their 
midst.  A  fresh  log  had  been  thrust  in  the 
stove,  and  the  man  held  his  hands  to  the 
warmth  gratefully.  Ena  watched  him  with 
76 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

barely  repressed  curiosity,  grateful  that  he 
viewed  her  in  silence. 

"Three  years  since  I  were  in  these  parts," 
he  remarked.  "And  I've  rushed  round  con- 
sider'ble  since  then.  Seems  kind  o'  home- 
like to  see  you  'gain,  Mis'  McLane." 

"There  were  five  o'  you  last  time,"  said 
Mrs.  McLane,  annoyed  to  see  Dick  was 
grinning  over  his  saucer  of  hickory-nuts. 
"And  I  mind  how  frozen  the  hull  lot  o'  you 
was." 

"Half  dead,"  agreed  the  pedlar. 

"You  had  a  lame  arm,"  continued  Mrs. 
McLane,  her  interest  in  ailments  arising  at 
once.  "I  remember  I  give  you  some  salve 
for  it." 

"It  cured  it,"  Marcus  answered.  "I 
guess  you  make  a  pretty  good  doctor. 
Your  hull  fam'ly  looks  well,  too." 

"There's  a  new  one  since  you  was  here 
last,"  remembered  Mrs.  McLane,  apolo- 
getic for  the  belated  introduction.  "I  was 
tellin'  Ena  about  the  last  time  you  was  here 
77 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

only  this  afternoon.  Seems  as  if  you've  al- 
ways got  to  come  in  a  storm." 

"I'm  used  to  'em,"  Marcus  answered 
stolidly,  viewing  the  carpet-rags  with  an 
appreciative  eye.  "I  got  some  real  pretty 
pieces  o'  blue  calicky  out  in  the  rig  there, 
Mis'  McLane.  Saved  'em  for  you  since  the 
week  afore  last,  guessin'  I'd  be  by  here 
'bout  now.  I  didn't  reckon  to  come  with 
weather  like  this,  though.  New  Year  is 
surely  started  in  cold  enough  for  people  like 
me.  Now  I  feel  half  like  gettin'  out  again 
a'ready,"  added  the  pedlar,  putting  the  soup- 
bowl  aside. 

"You  set  right  where  you  are,"  advised 
Mrs.  McLane  emphatically,  as  if  she 
thought  he  might  be  in  earnest.  "Can't  you 
tell  me  nothin'  about  that  pedlar  I  took  to 
meetin'  last  time  you  was  all  here — that 
Syrian  feller?" 

"I'd  like  to  say  he  got  religion,"  Marcus 
responded,  busy  with  a  pin  and  a  hickory- 
nut,  "but  I'm  afeard  it  wouldn't  be  right," 
78 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

and  he  looked  at  Dick  in  a  way  that  ex- 
pressed volumes.  "There's  lots  o'  people 
that  sorter  fall  in  with  their  surroundin's 
for  the  minute  and  then  fall  out  again,  and 
I  guess  he's  one  of  'em." 

"Maybe  that's  just  your  observation  of 
him,  and  it  ain't  really  so,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane,  who  disliked  to  have  her  delusions  de- 
stroyed. "I  just  like  to  have  hopes  o' 
everybody  all  the  time  until  I  see  they're 
plumb  give  up  to  cussedness.  It  don't  do 
to  judge  people  over  much,  'cause  we  can't 
see  their  innards." 

The  pedlar  agreed  with  a  readiness  which 
made  Ena  distrust  him  a  little.  Sitting 
close  to  the  stove  with  the  soup-bowl  at  his 
feet,  and  a  saucer  of  nuts  on  his  knee,  he 
seemed  at  peace  with  every  side  of  a  ques- 
tion. 

"And  I  don't  have  no  suspicions  of  no- 
body until  they  come  and  plank  their  doin's 
in  my  face,"  continued  Mrs.  McLane. 
"It's  a  bad  way  to  do  to  keep  your  insides 
79 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

fermentin',    and    maybe    all    for    nothin'." 

"Me,  too,"  agreed  the  pedlar,  a  little  ir- 
relevantly. 

"I've  seen  my  sister  Loosher — you  know 
the  Van  Orme  place,  Marcus? — sit  and  just 
torment  herself  with  thinkin'  'maybe'  about 
this  and  that  and  the  other  person;  losin' 
good  flesh  and  blood  every  minute  with  her 
foolishness,  and  gettin'  clear  snappety 
'cause  in  less'n  fifteen  minutes  all  her 
fancies  had  got  to  be  facts  to  her.  Good- 
ness knows  what  her  mind's  crowded  with, 
or  if  she  rightly  knows  what  is  so  and  what 
isn't,  about  the  folks  around  her." 

"When  I  come  here  I  get  my  own  beliefs 
and  feelin's  spoke  right  out,"  said  the  ped- 
lar fervently.  "I  often  say, " 

Dick  coughed,  and  the  sentence  was  left 
unfinished.  Mrs.  McLane,  whose  attention 
was  suddenly  claimed  by  a  tangle  in  the 
strips,  did  not  notice  the  fact,  and  the  ped- 
lar turned  his  attention  to  the  twins,  who 
had  been  impatiently  waiting  for  it.  For 
80 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

the  next  hour  the  whole  family  were  kept 
interested  and  amused  by  a  series  of  stories 
wliich,  from  their  fluency,  seemed  to  have 
been  used  not  infrequently  before. 

"I  believe  you  keep  just  such  yarns  a- 
purpose  for  times  like  this,"  laughed  Mrs. 
McLane;  "and  it  ain't  a  bad  idea.  No  one 
ain't  never  too  old  for  a  joke;  leastways, 
if  they  are,  they  ought  to  be  laid  where 
they  can't  hear  'em.  Now,  you  Jerry  and 
Dan,  get  off  to  bed.  Marcus'll  be  here  in 
the  mornin',  and  you  can  coax  some  more 
out  o'  him";  and  Mrs.  McLane  sat  with  an 
unusually  decided  countenance,  watching 
the  twins'  reluctant  feet  ascend  the  stairway. 

Ena  remained  for  half  an  hour  longer, 
listening  attentively  to  the  garrulous  mono- 
tone of  the  pedlar  and  the  fitful  shrieking 
of  the  wind.  Mrs.  McLane,  by  a  series  of 
adroit  questions,  was  obtaining  the  gossip 
of  the  neighbourhood — a  thing  rather  diffi- 
cult to  get  in  the  winter-time,  what  with  the 
bitter  weather  and  the  frequently  impass- 
81 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

able  roads.  Ena  listened  without  under- 
standing, and  soon  growing  weary  crept 
past  Ross  (who,  between  tales  of  Aunt 
Lucindy's  earaches  and  the  death  of  George 
Sorensen's  black  heifer,  was  trying  to  study 
German)  and  went  upstairs  to  bed. 

When  she  woke  in  the  morning  the  snow 
lay  in  little  drifting  lines  across  the  bright 
patchwork  quilt,  filtered  in  from  the  un- 
plastered  wall  and  ceiling.  The  water  in 
the  zinc  basin  by  the  bed  was  frozen  solid, 
and  Ena  dressed  shiveringly.  From  the 
window  she  saw  Marcus  and  the  boys  clear- 
ing paths  through  the  drifts  of  snow,  and 
battling  against  the  rage  of  the  wind  as  best 
they  could. 

"No  meetin'  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  McLane 
regretfully,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast.  "It's 
goin'  to  be  a  two-day  storm.  We'll  make 
meetin'  for  ourselves,  and  have  it  right  after 
breakfast,  afore  the  feelin'  sorter  gets  off'n 
us." 

So  when  the  meal  was  over  the  hymn- 
82 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

books  were  produced,  and  all  joined  in  sing- 
ing, the  pedlar's  uncertain  bass  mingling 
somewhat  whimsically  with  the  clear  voices 
of  the  children.  Mrs.  McLane  finished  the 
service  with  a  prayer  which  lasted  till  the 
twins  grew  restive,  and  a  reprimand  fol- 
lowed "the  invocation  so  swiftly  that  the  ped- 
lar was  left  in  doubt  as  to  where  to  make 
the  responses. 

There  was  a  general  distribution  of  the 
family  after  that.  Mrs.  McLane,  who  felt 
that  things  spiritual  had  had  first  place,  and 
been  well  attended  to,  prepared  for  an  en- 
joyable morning  sorting  calico  pieces  with 
the  pedlar.  Dick,  sitting  on  the  wood-box 
and  supplying  the  stove  at  intervals,  kept 
the  twins  open-mouthed  with  tales  of  won- 
drous adventure  by  land  and  sea,  and  with 
stories  of  strange  forest  animals  whose 
names  never  could  have  been  found  in 
a  natural  history  book.  Ena  listened 
and  laughed  for  a  while,  but  presently 
slipped  upstairs  to  the  garret,  where  Ross 
83 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

had  lit  a  little  oil-stove,  and  was  studying. 

Here,  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  the 
two  remained,  poring  assiduously  over 
books,  feeling  that  to  be  snow-bound  was 
no  great  calamity,  after  all,  since  it  gave 
an  unbroken  stretch  of  time  for  the  studies 
which  they  were  mutually  eager  to  conquer. 
Ena,  being  distinctly  ahead,  had  come  to 
take  the  part  of  tutor,  Ross  following  sin- 
cerely and  laboriously,  anxious  to  atone  for 
the  drawbacks  of  his  environments.  Thus 
they  worked  together  harmoniously,  each 
understanding  the  motives  of  the  other,  but 
saying  little  about  it. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  snow  ceased 
falling,  but  the  drifts  were  tossed  high  by  a 
wind  so  fierce  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  might 
shake  even  the  sun  itself,  hanging  all  day 
like  a  blurred  lamp  in  the  winter  sky.  Ena 
went  to  the  window,  looking  out  on  the  wild 
scene  wonderingly,  and  leaving  Ross  to  put 
the  books  away.  He  came  to  her  side  when 
the  shelves  were  straightened,  and  they 
84 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

knelt  together  by  the  window  till  the  light 
had  faded  out,  feeling  that  the  garret  was 
a  cosy  place,  and  full  of  possibilities.  The 
day's  work  had  been  good,  and  a  fresh  line 
of  study  had  been  planned  to  be  carried  out 
while  the  winter  should  last.  Inspiration 
had  come  in  the  wake  of  the  storm.  The 
first  isolation  of  the  snow  was  full  upon 
them  now,  and  Ross  in  particular  knew  that 
the  situation  had  advantages  which  should 
not  be  missed.  Hence,  he  had  thought  out 
his  chances  carefully,  including  Ena  in  all 
his  arrangements,  and  weaving  things!  round 
so  as  to  further  their  mutual  and  particular 
end. 


85 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  one  night  towards  the  end  of  Jan- 
uary that  Ena  was  awakened  from  a 
heavy  sleep  by  the  consciousness  of  some  un- 
usual commotion  going  on  downstairs. 
For  a  moment  she  sat  up,  listening  in  a 
dazed  way  to  the  clock  striking  twelve ;  then 
Mrs.  McLane's  shrill  voice  sounded  up  the 
stairway,  calling  hurriedly  to  Dick. 

Ena  was  downstairs  before  the  tired  boy. 
In  the  living-room  Mrs.  McLane  was  finish- 
ing a  speedy  toilet  by  the  light  of  a  single 
candle.  She  looked  up  at  the  sound  of 
Ena's  footfall. 

"It's  old  Mis'  Sorensen,"  she  gasped, 
struggling  angrily  with  a  refractory  hook. 
"George  has  drove  clear  across  from  their 
place  for  me  to  go  and  help  nurse  her.  He 
reckons  it's  a  pretty  sick  spell  this  time,  and 
Dick's  got  to  go  to  Creston  for  the  doctor 
86 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

while  I  get  back  with  George.  There  ain't 
never  a  soul  on  the  Sorensen  place  'cept 
George  and  the  old  lady,  and  she  won't  want 
to  be  left  longer'n  can  be  helped.  I  was 
over  there  when  her  man  died,  a  matter  o' 
somethin'  like  nine  year  ago.  Here's  Dick 
comin'  now,  and  I'm  glad  of  it." 

Dick  received  his  commands  stolidly,  and 
went  out  to  hitch  up  without  a  word  of  com- 
ment. 

The  January  thaw  was  on,  and  Ena  heard 
the  slow  dripping  of  the  eaves  as  the  kitchen 
door  was  swung  and  left  open.  Dick's 
lantern  zigzagged  over  to  the  barn,  and  in 
a  few  moments  they  heard  old  Libby's  im- 
patient neigh  as  she  was  led  out. 

"It  do  seem  plaguey-like  that  the  thaw 
should  ha'  started  in  only  this  mornin'," 
said  Mrs.  McLane,  putting  the  last  of  sev- 
eral small  bottles  in  her  capacious  pocket. 
"It'll  be  mighty  poor  sleighin',  and  hinder  us 
just  so  much.  I  don't  rightly  know  when 
I'll  be  back,  Ena,  but  you  and  the  boys  can 
87 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

manage.  You've  sorter  got  the  way  o'  the 
place  now,  and  the  boys  are  awful  handy. 
Everybody's  waked  up,  I  guess,  but  you  all 
better  get  back  to  bed  again,  seein'  as  Dick 
can't  be  home  afore  mornin'." 

When  Mrs.  McLane  stepped  into  the 
sleigh  and  took  her  place  beside  the  huddled 
figure  of  George  Sorensen,  Ena  and  Ross 
were  both  on  the  kitchen  threshold.  The 
sleigh  slipped  off  into  the  darkness,  and 
the  children  closed  the  door  with  a  sense  of 
desolation. 

For  the  rest  of  that  night  Ena  slept  fit- 
fully, and  by  six  o'clock  she  was  down  in 
the  kitchen  again.  Ross  had  already  made 
the  fires,  and  cleared  away  all  signs  of  con- 
fusion caused  by  the  midnight  call.  Ena 
began  to  prepare  breakfast,  the  pleasant 
sense  of  being  able  to  rise  to  the  occasion 
filling  her  heart. 

"Dick  ought  to  be  home  between  now  and 
eight  o'clock,"  Ross  remarked,  as  he  came 
in  presently  from  the  barn  and  sat  down 
88 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

to  hot  coffee  and  buckwheat  cakes.  "That 
is,  unless  something  out  of  the  way  keeps 
him.  He's  longer  on  account  of  the  bad 
sleighing.  This  thaw  is  likely  to  keep  up 
three  or  four  days." 

"But  will  Aunt  June  be  gone  as  long  as 
that?"  asked  Ena,  feeling  at  a  sudden  loss. 

"Maybe;  it  all  depends  on  what's  the  mat- 
ter. They  always  send  for  ma  if  there's 
sickness  about." 

Breakfast  was  finished  almost  in  silence. 
The  day  had  dawned  gloomily,  and  this  fact 
coupled  with  the  absence  of  the  two  senior 
members  of  the  family,  had  its  due  effect. 
Even  the  twins  were  slightly  subdued,  and 
set  out  on  the  long  tramp  for  school  with  a 
little  less  protestation  than  usual,  having 
coaxed  Ena  to  fill  their  dinner-pails  with 
extra  comforts  in  the  way  of  "plumcrack" 
and  cookies. 

When  Dick  came  home  at  length,  tired, 
damp,  and  hungry,  the  work  of  the  day  was 
well  begun,  and  the  kitchen  presented  an 
89 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

air  of  cleanliness  and  cheer.  Ena,  envel- 
oped in  one  of  Mrs.  McLane's  gingham 
aprons,  had  expended  a  great  deal  of  en- 
ergy in  reducing  things  to  order,  and  Dick 
looked  round  with  appreciation  as  he  sat 
down  in  the  old  rocking-chair  by  the  kitchen 
stove. 

"You're  learning  to  be  a  farmer's  wife 
a'ready,  Ena,"  he  laughed.  "Don't  take  the 
apron  off;  you  look  good  in  it." 

"How  was  Mrs.  Sorensen?" 

"Bad."  Dick  unlaced  his  shoes  slowly, 
and  put  them  to  dry.  "It's  a  real  sick  spell, 
the  doctor  says.  I  left  him  there  with  ma. 
She  was  up  to  her  eyes  in  work,  fixin'  every- 
thing around.  Guess  George  has  lost  his 
courage.  He  acts  as  glad  as  a  child  to  have 
ma  there.  She  said  she'd  stay  till  it  was 
through,  one  way  or  the  other." 

Ena  went  back  to  her  work  with  an  added 

sense  of  responsibility,  and  all  through  the 

long  day  she  toiled  valiantly,  attacking  the 

rooms  piece-meal  from  cellar  to  garret,  and 

90 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

gradually  realising  that  several  days  of  de- 
votion would  be  necessary  to  reduce  things 
to  something  like  order.  The  house  had 
not,  in  the  proper  and  respectable  sense  of 
the  word,  a  front-room,  and  even  if  money 
had  ever  been  found  to  suitably  decorate 
such  a  sanctuary,  it  would  never  have  held 
its  own,  owing  to  Mrs.  McLane's  scorn  of 
everything  other  than  the  commonplace. 

"I'd  sooner  have  two  gingham  dresses 
any  day  than  one  sateen,"  had  been  her 
withering  retort  on  one  occasion  to  a  neigh- 
bour who  had  indulged  in  the  frivolity  of 
sateen;  and  the  remark  indicated  her  whole 
outlook  on  life  very  perfectly. 

Thus  the  small  west  room,  which  should 
have  been  dedicated  to  crayons  and  crochet, 
differed  from  the  living-room  in  only  a  few 
details.  The  newest  rag  carpet  was  on  the 
floor,  and  six  superior  chairs  were — or 
should  have  been — ranged  at  intervals 
round  the  walls.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
chairs  were  generally  utilised  as  a  sort  of 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

trestle  for  the  receipt  of  divers  articles  which 
nobody  had  time  to  put  anywhere  else- 
two  being  placed  facing  each  other,  and  then 
generously  loaded.  The  arrangement  had 
dazed  Ena  a  little  at  first,  but  as  it  seemed 
to  be  a  habit  of  several  years'  standing  she 
had  never  ventured  a  remark  on  the  subject. 

Now  that  it  had  come  to  a  question  of 
cleaning  the  room,  however,  Ena  paused  in 
the  doorway  with  a  speculative  eye,  wonder- 
ing if  it  were  possible  in  a  single  day  to 
unearth  the  wealth  of  material  that  was  bid- 
ing its  time  in  this  tentative  fashion.  The 
Sunday  clothes  of  the  entire  family  formed 
a  top  layer,  and  beneath  these  were  an  as- 
sortment of  other  articles  not  to  be  easily 
named  or  placed. 

"You'd  better  leave  it,"  Ross  advised, 
coming  in  at  the  moment,  and  finding  Ena 
with  the  finger  of  indecision  on  her  lips. 
"I  tried  it  once,  but  got  disheartened." 

"It's  too  late  to-day,"  Ena  admitted. 
"I'll  get  up  extra  early  to-morrow  morning. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

I  want  to  have  everything  nice  and  straight 
for  Aunt  June,  because  she'll  need  a  rest- 
up  after  nursing." 

So  the  whole  of  the  next  day  was  given  to 
house-cleaning,  and  by  supper-time  Ena 
ached  in  every  limb.  Ross,  who  had  shared 
her  labours,  insisted  on  getting  the  meal, 
half-proud  of  his  ability,  half-anxious  for 
the  tired  girl.  Dimly  he  felt  the  difficulty 
of  her  struggle  with  the  things  that  were 
common  to  his  own  life. 

"Liz  Elder  licked  the  plumcrack  off  my 
bread,"  complained  Jerry  at  the  supper- 
table,  helping  himself  to  the  dainty  very 
liberally.  "She  got  to  my  dinner-pail 
some  way  or  another.  I'm  going  to  fix  her 
for  it  to-morrow,  so  don't  you  interfere  if 
you're  to  school,  Ross." 

"I'll  be  here,"  Ross  ventured.  "Ma's 
not  coming  back  to-night." 

This  proved  to  be  true,  though  the  even- 
ing was  spent  in  a  sort  of  expectancy,  lis- 
tening for  sleigh-bells.  Nothing  was  to  be 
93 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

heard,  however,  save  the  slow  dripping  of 
the  eaves.  The  day  had  been  grey  and 
lowering,  and  everybody  longed  for  the 
thaw  to  end. 

Late  the  next  afternoon  the  Sorensen 
sleigh  drove  into  the  yard,  and  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane  stepped  out,  a  subdued  air  about  her 
which  told  its  tale  immediately.  Without 
a  word  the  children  made  a  place  for  her  by 
the  stove,  and  she  sat  down  wearily. 

"I  was  real  sorry  to  say  good-bye  to  Mis' 
Sorensen,"  she  said  at  last,  her  eyes  heavy 
with  the  recollection  of  the  scene  she  had 
just  passed  through.  "It's  another  old  set- 
tler gone,  and  I  guess  the  funeral'll  be  a 
pretty  big  one  spite  o'  the  weather.  It'll 
seem  queer  to  pass  by  the  Sorensen  place 
and  not  see  the  old  lady  round ;  she  was  that 
sociable  it  seemed  sorter  homelike  even  if 
you'd  only  time  to  stop  for  a  few  words 
with  her.  She  had  a  fine  mem'ry,  too,  and 
many's  the  tale  I've  heard  her  tell  about 
the  early  days  in  these  parts." 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Mrs.  McLane  took  the  cup  of  tea  Ena 
brought  and  stirred  it  thoughtfully.  An 
unusual  silence  had  fallen  upon  the  little 
group  round  the  stove.  Ena  sat  with  her 
chin  in  her  hands,  leaning  forward  to 
listen. 

"She  was  a  mighty  plucky  woman,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  McLane,  "and  shirked  nothin' 
that  come  in  her  way.  You  children  ain't 
got  but  a  small  conception  o'  some  o'  the 
things  that  had  to  be  faced  when  these  parts 
was  first  settled.  Things  is  sorter  comfort- 
able now,  but  in  them  days  it  warn't  no 
such  story.  When  the  Sorensens  first  took 
up  title  to  their  land  they  had  to  build  them 
just  a  shanty  o'  logs  and  a  roof  o'  hem- 
lock boughs,  to  start  with.  The  door  was 
a  blanket,  and  there  warn't  no  winder  at 
all.  They  had  the  deer  chasin'  round  by 
day  and  the  wolves  kep'  'em  comp'ny  at 
night.  A  bear  took  a  sack  o'  meal  from  'em 
one  night  and  killed  the  only  pig  they  had. 
The  Indians  warn't  none  too  friendly, 
95 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

neither,  seemin'  to  sniff  a'ready  at  what  was 
comin'  later.  I've  heard  Mis'  Sorensen 
laugh  about  it  all  many  a  time,  she  bein' 
one  to  turn  up  her  sleeves  when  trouble 
come  along  and  fight  it  good  and  plenty. 
It  ain't  but  right  to  say  that  old  man  Sor- 
ensen was  proud  o'  his  woman." 

Mrs  McLane  wiped  her  eyes  on  her  pet- 
ticoat and  sipped  her  tea  again. 

"And  there  was  the  time  when  their  claim 
was  jumped,"  she  went  on.  "In  them  days 
they  used  oxen  in  the  lumberin'  business 
up  to  Lake  Superior,  and  one  time  the  Sor- 
ensens  undertook  to  drive  six  yoke  up  there, 
a  clear  hundred  and  fifty  miles  through  the 
woods,  and  nothin'  more  in  their  heads  to 
guide  'em  than  what  the  birds  have.  They 
made  the  journey  all  right,  havin'  one  ad- 
venture and  another,  same  as  you  might  ex- 
pect, considerin'  the  undertaking  but  it 
warn't  to  be  wondered  at  that  they  was  all 
tuckered  out  when  they  got  back.  Then 
they  found  fresh  trouble,  in  the  shape  o' 
96 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

somebody  havin'  jumped  their  claim  and 
established  theirselves  quite  comfortable- 
like  in  the  shanty,  and  also  improved  it 
some.  That  set  Mis'  Sorensen's  blood  afire. 
It  used  to  be  real  good  to  hear  her  tell  of 
her  feelin's here  Mrs.  McLane  re- 
lapsed into  a  moment's  laughter —  "and  how 
war  just  fired  up  in  her  blood  right  away. 
Seems  it  was  old  Packard  and  his  two  sons 
—boys  about  fifteen  and  sixteen,  maybe — 
who'd  done  the  thing,  and  they  announced 
they  warn't  goin'  to  quit,  havin'  taken  some 
trouble  over  puttin'  things  a  bit  into  shape. 
Sorensen  was  for  goin'  to  the  committee 
to  straighten  things  out,  but  Mis'  Sorensen 
wouldn't  hear  to  that  amount  o'  delay. 
She  could  use  firearms  as  well  as  anyone, 
and  though  the  old  man  and  his  boys  had 
made  a  sort  o'  little  garrison  o'  theirselves 
in  the  shanty,  she  was  determined  to  have 
'em  out  without  a  bit  o'  waitin'  for  it.  Sor- 
ensen caught  her  notion  just  by  lookin' 
once  at  her  face,  and  he  fell  to  with  her,  and 
97 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

they  had  a  pitched  battle  right  there.  The 
door  was  drove  clear  to  the  middle  of  the 
room  with  a  batterin'  ram,  and  old  Packard 
had  a  flesh  wound  in  his  arm  afore  he'd  had 
time  to  draw  his  breath  straight.  Guess 
they  felt  some  superstitious  about  the  way 
Mis'  Sorensen  carried  all  afore  her,  for  it 
warn't  but  a  few  minutes  till  they  cut  and 
run  to  the  woods.  When  the  Sorensens 
had  got  things  straightened  out  a  bit  and 
put  aside  what  didn't  belong  to  'em,  Mis' 
Sorensen  took  pains  to  hunt  old  Packard  up 
and  dress  his  arm  and  sorter  tell  him  she 
wouldn't  ha'  done  it  if  she  could  ha'  helped 
it.  Anyway,  the  bad  feelin's  wore  down 
after  a  bit,  and  in  less  than  a  couple  o' 
months  the  two  fam'lies  was  livin'  real 
peaceable  together  as  neighbours,  and  that 
lasted  till  old  Packard  died." 

"I've  heard  the  two  Packard  men  say 
there  was  no  outdoin'  Mis'  Sorensen  in  the 
way  o'  bein'  hospitable,"  remarked  Dick, 
the  spirit  of  tribute-paying  upon  him  also. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Hospitable,  I  should  say!"  endorsed 
Mrs.  McLane.  "It's  a  pity  the  old  pioneer 
spirit  seems  as  if  it  warn't  sometimes  just 
what  it  used  to  be.  I  ain't  complainin', 
but  I  remember  such  good  times  that  I  hope 
they  won't  never  die  out.  Everybody  had 
to  give  the  helpin'  hand  then,  and  they 
wanted  to.  It  just  warms  me  clear  to  the 
middle  to  think  about  it.  Mis'  Sorensen 
told  me  she  accommodated  two  extry 
fam'lies  in  that  shanty  o'  hers  the  second 
spring — people  who  had  took  up  claims  and 
was  waitin'  to  build  cabins.  It  was  close 
quarters  for  everybody,  I  reckon,  but  that 
didn't  matter  none,  since  the  right  spirit 
was  there.  Besides  this,  travellers  on  the 
lookout  for  land  stopped  along  continual, 
and  they  got  a  good  welcome  every  time. 
Three  men  who  was  there  for  a  week  once, 
finally  took  up  a  quarter-section  a  good 
seven  miles  away,  and  all  that  spring  Mis' 
Sorensen  baked  bread  for  'em,  they  fetchin' 
it  once  a  week.  That  meant  a  round  trip 
99 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

o'  fourteen  miles  through  the  woods,  with 
never  a  bit  o'  road,  and  the  wolves  followin' 
them  many  a  time,  close  enough  to  be 
troublesome.  Life  warn't  all  cider  and 
hickory-nuts  in  them  days,  but  I  can  tell 
you  people  enjoyed  theirselves,  just  the 
same." 

A  log  fell  heavily  in  the  stove,  and  Mrs. 
McLane  roused  herself  from  reminiscence 
with  a  jerk,  setting  her  empty  cup  aside. 

"The  funeral's  to  be  day  after  to-mor- 
row," she  said  energetically.  "Let's  look 
up  all  the  bits  o'  black  we've  got.  Mis'  Sor- 
ensen  was  a  great  one  to  believe  in  a  funeral 
bein'  fixed  real  decent  and  proper,  and  no 
goin'  to  it  as  if  you  was  just  givin'  your 
good  clothes  an  airin'.  She  was  never  one 
to  visit,  neither,  at  such  times — said  it  made 
her  feel  sorter  mean  to  when  there  was  one 
that  had  to  lie  so  quiet.  I'd  kind  o'  like 
to  follow  out  her  notions  now  that  she  ain't 
able  to  plan  for  herself;  then  we  can't  never 
feel  she  was  shamed-like  at  the  way  in  which 
we  took  good-bye  of  her  for  good." 
100 


CHAPTER  VII 

4  4fTlHE  sap's  started  in  the  maples." 

A  Ross  flung  the  reins  aside  as  he 
spoke,  and  ran  up  the  steps  to  where  Ena 
stood  in  the  kitchen  doorway,  shading 
her  eyes  from  the  bright  March  sunshine  as 
she  looked  out  over  the  ridge. 

"The  sap's  started,"  he  repeated,  more 
softly.  "Now  you  can  go  down  with  us  to 
the  sugar-bush,  Ena,  and  see  the  trees 
tapped." 

"I'd  like  to  help,"  Ena  said  quickly. 

"You  can  watch  us  first."  Ross  spoke 
cautiously,  being  still  quite  unable  to  think 
of  Ena  as  a  worker,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  she  had  evidenced  to  the  contrary. 
His  mother's  matter-of-fact  attitude  to- 
wards his  wonderful  cousin  was  a  source  of 
distress  to  him;  he  thought  that  anybody 
101 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

who  could  accept  Ena  as  belonging  to  the 
ordinary  course  of  things  was  lamentably 
lacking  in  discrimination. 

"Of  course  I'll  have  to  learn,"  Ena 
agreed ;  "but  after  I've  been  trying  to  make 
sap-spouts  I  want  to  know  how  they  are 
used.  Dick  says  there's  no  time  in  the  year 
he  likes  better  than  the  week  he's  down  in 
the  woods  boiling  the  sap." 

"It  means  the  first  notion  of  spring," 
Ross  said,  "and  that  seems  good  after 
you've  had  the  snow  lying  for  three  months. 
I'm  always  tired  of  sleighing  by  the  middle 
of  March." 

There  was  an  extra  commotion  in  the 
house  all  morning,  owing  to  the  news  Ross 
had  brought.  Mrs.  McLane,  who  always 
rose  to  an  occasion  volubly,  gave  a  stream 
of  suggestions  and  directions  to  which  no 
one  paid  any  particular  attention,  Dick  and 
Ross  being  quietly  engaged  over  necessary 
preparations. 

"We'll  have  a  good  sugaring-off  party 
102 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

this  year,  so  as  Ena  can  enjoy  herself," 
the  twins  suggested,  trying  to  keep  the  per- 
sonal note  out  of  their  voices. 

"We'll  tend  to  the  business  part  first," 
said  Mrs.  McLane.  "The  fun  comes  later, 
and  I  ain't  as  deceived  by  the  way  you  put 
it  as  you  might  think,"  she  added  snappily, 
reviewing  her  small  sons  with  an  enlighten- 
ment that  surprised  them. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  be- 
fore Ena  and  the  twins  set  out,  full  of  the 
delicious  promise  that  they  could  spend  the 
night  in  the  sugar-shanty.  The  sleighing 
down  to  the  woods  was  bad,  for  the  end  of 
March  had  come,  and  the  winter  was  break- 
ing up,  but  not  one  of  the  three  concerned 
themselves  over  their  occasionally  difficult 
progress. 

"We  ought  to  have  gone  yesterday,"  Dan 
complained,  when  once  he  was  well  out  of 
his  mother's  hearing.  "Last  year  we  went 
do\vn  the  first  day,  and  Jerry  and  I  lit  the 
fire  in  the  shanty,  and  cleaned  it  out,  while 
103 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Dick  and  Ross  tapped  the  trees.  Half  the 
fun's  over  the  second  day." 

This  view  of  the  case  seemed  to  dwindle, 
however,  when  once  their  destination  was 
reached.  Dick  and  Ross  had  been  active, 
and  work  was*  in  full  progress.  Ena 
stopped  for  a  moment  among  the  trees  to 
watch  the  sap  dripping  slowly  from  the 
spouts,  and  her  eyes  were  wide  with  wonder 
by  the  time  she  reached  Dick. 

Near  the  shanty  the  fire  had  been  built, 
and  the  sap-pan  was  bubbling  over  it.  In 
the  distance  the  slow  trailing  of  the  pung 
could  be  heard,  and  Ena  lifted  her  head  to 
listen  more  closely  as  she  stood  warming 
her  hands. 

"Ross  is  emptying  the  sap-troughs," 
Dick  volunteered,  as  the  twins  rushed  off. 
"He'll  be  back  from  his  round  of  the  trees 
before  long,  and  you  can  go  with  him  next 
time.  Sit  down  a  minute,  and  get  warmed 
up." 

"Do  you  have  to  watch  this  all  the  time?" 
104 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Ena  peered  over  the  edge  of  the  sap-pan. 

"Sure."  Dick  gave  another  stir  to  the 
bubbling  contents.  "I'm  going  to  take  a 
rest  before  Ross  goes,  and  then  I'll  be  up 
all  night  with  it.  That's  the  time  I  like 
best." 

Ena  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Owls  hooting,  and  every  now  and  again 
something  stirring  in  the  bushes."  Dick 
laughed.  "It  makes  me  feel  good.  I  can't 
exactly  explain  it,  but  you'd  know  what  I 
mean  if  ever  you'd  sat  up  the  night  through 
in  the  woods.  I'd  rather  be  under  a  tree 
any  night  than  in  my  bed.  So  would 
Ross." 

Ena  still  looked  a  little  mystified. 

"You  ain't  been  used  to  that  style  of 
thing,"  Dick  continued,  moved  a  little  from 
his  usual  taciturnity,  "but  we've  got  the 
woods  right  in  our  blood,  and  they're  home 
to  us  any  time.  See  what  I  shot  last  night." 

Ena  looked  at  the  raccoon-skin  nailed  to 
the  wall  of  the  shanty. 
105 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Got  just  a  little  too  near,"  Dick  ob- 
served, stirring  again.  "I'll  teach  you  to 
handle  a  gun  next  fall,  Ena.  You'll  likely 
make  a  good  shot,  and  it's  a  thing  a  girl 
ought  to  know,  anyway,  when  she's  living 
close  to  pioneer  country." 

Dick  stopped  to  push  fresh  logs  under  the 
pan,  and  Ena  opened  the  door  of  the  shanty. 
All  was  neat  within,  and  a  fire  crackled  in 
the  wood-stove.  The  bunks  had  been 
strewn  with  fresh  cedar-boughs  and  covered 
with  quilts.  Everything  showed  the  touch 
of  Ross's  hands. 

Dinner  was  due  in  less  than  an  hour,  and 
Ena  set  about  its  preparation,  leaving  only 
the  coffee  to  Dick,  who  promised  to  make  it 
with  sap.  Just  as  the  meal  was  ready  Ross 
came  up,  and  Ena  ran  out  to  the  pung  to 
call  him  in,  laughing  at  the  novelty  of  house- 
keeping in  the  woods. 

"You'll  be  able  to  make  sugar  yourself 
next  year,"  Ross  smiled,  stooping  to  wash 
his  hands  in  the  melting  snow.  "Let's  go 
106 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

in  to  dinner  now.     I  don't  think  anything 
ever  smelt  so  good." 

The  little  log  shanty  rang  with  laughter 
during  the  meal.  Ena's  presence  was  an  in- 
spiration to  the  boys,  and  her  faculty  for 
seeing  a  certain  amount  of  play  in  any  and 
every  kind  of  work  had  appealed  to  them 
from  the  first.  No  one  was  helped  by  this 
unaccustomed  lightsome  element  more  than 
Ross,  who,  as  his  mother  said,  "had  been 
born  thinkin',  and  never  stopped  since." 

"I  thought  at  first  you'd  be  so  homesick 
and  lonesome  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  live," 
he  said  to  Ena,  when  the  meal  was  over 
and  the  round  of  the  trees  had  begun  again. 
"I  guess,  though,  that  you  think  more  about 
rising  up  to  things  than  falling  down  in 
front  of  them,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief. 

"I  don't  like  cry-baby  people."  Ena 
looked  at  the  contents  of  the  sap-trough 
sliding  into  the  barrel.  "I  felt  lonely  the 

first  week,  but  after  that " 

107 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

She  said  no  more,  but  the  two  walked  a 
little  closer  together  under  the  maples,  and 
Ross  was  content  to  talk  only  about  the 
matter  in  hand;  letting  Ena  help  him  in 
the  work  now  and  then,  and  answering  the 
hundred  questions  propounded  by  her  al- 
ways inquiring  mind. 

Long  after  he  had  gone  that  night,  when 
the  twins  were  asleep  in  their  bunks,  and 
Dick  was  sitting  alone  in  the  darkness  out- 
side, Ena  lay  and  thought  over  his  words, 
feeling  glad  that  he  always  understood  so 
easily.  She  smiled  happily  at  the  wood-fire, 
throwing  dancing  streaks  of  light  all  over 
the  shanty,  and  then  she  stretched  her  head 
near  the  open  window  to  peer  at  Dick.  He 
was  sitting  with  his  gun  across  his  knees, 
his  eyes  on  the  sap-pan  and  the  underbrush 
alternately,  and  an  expression  of  unmiti- 
gated contentment  on  his  face.  Ena  curled 
under  the  old  patchwork  quilt  with  a  sense 
of  being  well  guarded,  and  fell  asleep  al- 
most at  once,  not  to  waken  until  morning. 
108 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Ten  days  later  the  sugaring-off  party 
took  place,  and  the  twins  felt  their  hearts' 
desire  was  realised.  The  work  in  the  woods 
had  been  well  enough,  but  it  was  as  nothing 
to  the  joy  of  the  finish,  and  the  energy  they 
expended  in  preparations  for  the  event 
caused  Mrs.  McLane  secret  gratification. 

"They  ain't  never  been  so  useful  in 
fetchin'  and  carry  in'  before,"  she  laughed 
to  Ena.  "It  do  seem  you  ought  to  make 
folks  happy  afore  you  expect  'em  to  be 
good." 

The  night  was  moonlight,  and  warmer 
than  usual,  though  the  snow  was  deep 
enough  for  sleighing  still.  Ena  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  shanty,  watching  the  guests  ar- 
rive. Two  bob-sleighs  held  all,  and  the 
maple-woods  rang  with  laughter  as  they  ap- 
proached. 

"You  ain't  never  been  to  a  party  o'  this 

sort    before,    Ena,"    said    Mrs.    McLane, 

bustling  about.     "If  you  notice  the  manners 

ain't  citified  you  can  recollect  the  hearts  is 

109 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

good.  The  very  first  one  I  see  is  Loosher 

— none  so  crippled  after  all "  And 

Mrs.  McLane  hurried  off. 

Ena  felt  a  tap  on  her  arm,  and  turned 
round  to  see  Uncle  Ed. 

"You  ain't  been  to  see  us  again  this 
winter,"  he  said  gently.  "If  it  hadn't  been 
for  Dale  comin'  to  and  fro  with  reports  I 
should  ha'  thought  you'd  gone  back  to  Cal- 
iforny  again. 

"I've  been  going  to  school,"  Ena  ex- 
plained, "and  another  thing,  the  snow  has 
been  so  deep.  Aunt  June  says  it  reminds 
her  of  the  winter  the  twins  were  born,  when 
the  snow  was  over  the  fences." 

"So  it  was,"  agreed  Uncle  Ed.  "There 
was  one  or  two  deaths  by  freezin'  that 
winter,  and  we  was  gettin'  snow-bound  con- 
tinual. Everybody  had  just  to  stop  about 
their  own  places,  'cept  Saturdays,  and  then 
o'  course  it  didn't  seem  like  livin'  if  you 
couldn't  get  to  town.  That's  the  real  treat 
in  the  week  to  most  o'  the  folks — goin'  to 
110 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

town  Saturdays,  and  hitchin'  up  in  front  o' 
the  stores,  and  talkin'  all  the  news  that  ever 
happened  or  is  goin'  to  happen.  That  and 
the  funerals  is  all  the  outin'  most  of  us 
gets." 

"Except  parties  like  these,"  suggested 
Ena. 

"Yes,"  Uncle  Ed  agreed.  "There's  times 
in  the  year  when  a  gatherin'  or  two  takes 
place,  but  it  ain't  so  often.  I  like  it  myself; 
not  for  the  dancin'  about,  and  the  sugar- 
eatin',  but  because  everyone  comes  in  such  a 
real  smilin'  state  o'  mind.  It  makes  me 
feel  as  though  it  ain't  so  mighty  hard  to 
keep  your  best  side  turned  up  top,  after 
all." 

"We  don't  practise  enough,"  Ena 
laughed. 

"I  guess  you  do."  Uncle  Ed  looked 
down  at  the  bright  face,  and  sighed  pro- 
foundly to  think  that  the  inability  to  scrub 
floors  had  barred  so  much  sunshine  from  his 
home.  "You  don't  have  to  practise, 
111 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

though,"  he  added.  "You've  got  it  nat- 
ural." 

Ena  moved  from  the  doorway  presently, 
and  joined  the  laughing  group  round  the 
sap-pan.  Marthy  Swiggs  was  one  of  them, 
the  plum-coloured  rose  nodding  gaily  in  her 
bonnet  as  she  watched  Ross  strew  the  hot 
sap  in  the  snow.  It  sugared,  and  the  chat- 
tering crowd  on  the  logs  clapped  hands  and 
began  the  feast.  Ena  remained  near  her 
aunt,  listening  to  her  flow  of  remarks. 

"The  years  do  go  remarkably  fast,"  said 
Mrs.  McLane,  dividing  her  attention  be- 
tween her  saucer  and  Uncle  Ed.  "It  seems 
but  a  short  enough  time  ago  since  Rob  Mc- 
Lane and  I  was  at  a  sugar-feast  down  by 
the  Swiggs's  place,  and  he  first  give  me  the 
notion  that  he  wanted  me  and  him  to  hitch 
up.  I  hadn't  no  notion  then  o'  keepin' 
steady  comp'ny  with  him,  for  he  was 
sombre-like,  and  no  hand  to  give  his  smiles 
away  for  nothin'.  He  real  surprised  me  by 
the  way  he  talked  that  night,  and  I  sorter 
112 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

glimpsed  his  innards  in  a  way  I  hadn't 
never  done  before.  Seemed  as  if  I  stopped 
thinkin'  all  of  a  sudden  about  the  value  o' 
easy  smilin',  and  took  to  considerin'  what  a 
glummer  face  might  mean.  I  misdoubt  but 
what  he  meant  I  should,"  added  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane,  a  little  ruffled  by  the  suspicion,  "but 
then  I  ain't  never  been  sorry  he  got  over 
me  that  way." 

"Seein'  the  young  folks  slidin'  away  to- 
gether surely  gets  us  lookin'  back,"  sighed 
Uncle  Ed.  "It  makes  anyone  sorter  wish 
the  good  feelin'  o'  courtin'  days  didn't  get 
so  soon  drownded  in  hogs  and  pertaters." 

"But  you  was  always  a  bit  flighty,"  ob- 
jected Mrs.  McLane.  "It  ain't  no  good 
havin'  things  to  say  agen  what  brings  you 
your  livin'.  As  for  the  young  folks,  they 
ain't  got  it  all  on  their  side.  There's  lots 
to  live  for  all  the  time,  and  we  don't  never 
get  to  feelin'  so  old  as  we  think  we'll  do. 
Land  sakes!  Is  that  Dick  goin'  off  with 
the  Hetherbridge  girl?" 
113 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Sure  enough."  Uncle  Ed  peered 
through  the  trees  with  a  smile.  "Loosher'll 
say  you've  got  your  trouble  comin',  Ju." 

"Trouble  nothin'."  Mrs.  McLane 
scraped  her  saucer  with  relish,  and  ceased 
to  regard  the  departing  pair.  "Bess  Heth- 
erbridge  is  all  right — made  her  own  clothes 
since  she  was  'leven,  and  cooks  good  be- 
sides. It  ain't  nothin'  serious  anyway;  just 
a  bit  too  much  sugar-eatin'  made  'em  feel 
sorter  sentimental.  Now  you  help  me 
search,  Ed,  to  see  if  by  chance  anyone  has 
got  a  jug  or  two  in  the  sleighs.  If  so,  we'll 
fill  'em  up  with  maple  syrup,  and  you  can 
find  Ross  and  Ena,  and  tell  'em  to  help 
us  quietly.  Is  that  them  goin'  off  too? 
Well,  never  mind — they  only  talk  book- 
learnin',  anyway." 

But  it  was  not  book-learning  that  was 
talked  under  the  maple-trees  that  night,  for 
the  thought  of  the  school-room  was  far 
enough  away  from  the  mind  of  both  boy  and 
girl.  The  spirit  of  the  woods  was  on  Ross, 
114 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  talked 
to  someone  who  drew  out  his  halting 
thoughts  and  interpreted  his  dreams. 
Back  and  forth  they  paced  the  snowy  paths 
until  the  party  by  the  fire  broke  up,  and 
Ena  was  called  to  take  her  place  in  the 
sleigh.  She  slid  down  among  the  rugs  re- 
luctantly, feeling  suddenly  ill  at  ease  among 
her  companions;  and  Ross  went  back  to  the 
fire  to  stretch  on  one  of  the  empty  logs,  and 
feel  that  some  of  his  boyish  dreams  had 
taken  a  vague  shape  at  last. 


115 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  was  one  afternoon  towards  the  latter 
part  of  April  that  Ena,  returning  home 
from  school  with  the  boys,  noticed  an  un- 
usual atmosphere  about  the  house  as  she 
approached.  The  kitchen  window  was  open, 
and  the  sound  of  Mrs.  McLane's  voice,  talk- 
ing fast  and  furiously,  could  be  heard  with 
great  distinctness.  For  a  moment  the  chil- 
dren paused;  then  Jerry,  with  a  shriek  of 
delight,  pointed  to  an  old  mackinaw  hang- 
ing on  a  nail  of  the  wood-shed. 

"Father's  home!" 

There  was  a  rush  round  the  side  of  the 
house  for  the  kitchen  steps,  and  a  sudden 
bursting  open  of  the  door.  Ena,  left  be- 
hind for  a  moment  in  the  excitement,  heard 
a  gruff  voice  welcome  the  boys,  and  then 
her  own  name  was  called.  She  went  for- 
116 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

ward,  and  was  drawn  into  the  circle  round 
the  old  kitchen  rocking-chair. 

"So  this  is  the  girl  Ju  notioned  to  adopt," 
Robert  McLane  said  in  his  slow  way.  "We 
ain't  never  had  a  daughter,  and  I'm  real 
glad  to  see  you  here,  Ena." 

Something  brought  a  mist  to  Ena's  eyes, 
which  she  was  fain  to  rub  away  surrepti- 
tiously with  the  back  of  her  hand.  She 
looked  at  the  unknown  uncle  more  closely 
as  the  twins  clambered  on  to  his  knee,  and 
found  him  familiar  at  once,  since  he  looked 
like  Dick  grown  older.  There  was  a  weary 
stoop  to  the  shoulders  which  caught  her 
sympathy,  and  involuntarily  she  looked  at 
the  table. 

"I'm  just  settin'  a  meal,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane, "and  I  guess  we'll  all  eat  early  to- 
night. Now,  you  boys,  get  off  your 
father's  knee,  and  help  set  the  table  while  he 
rests.  You  look  clear  tuckered  out,  Rob." 

"Just  that." 

Robert  McLane  went  over  to  the  bench, 
117 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

and  dipped  the  zinc  basin  full  of  water. 
Ena,  frying  the  potatoes,  watched  his  tall 
figure  and  his  slow,  heavy  movement  with 
interest.  He  was  very  much  what  she  had 
imagined  him  to  be,  though  there  was  a 
gentleness  in  his  manner  which  she  had 
hardly  expected. 

Dick  came  in  just  as  the  steaming  food 
was  placed  on  the  table,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  many  months  the  family  sat  down 
complete,  excepting  for  Dale. 

"He'd  like  uncommon  to  be  here  if  he 
only  knew,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  regretfully. 
"Never  mind,  however,  for  to-morrow's  Sat- 
urday, and  it  ain't  so  long  to  wait,  since 
he  don't  know.  My!  the  winter  seemed 
sorter  long  this  year,  and  half  the  time  the 
thermometer  was  down  to  zero  and  below. 
I  guess  there's  been  some  stove-hugging 
evenin's  in  the  loggin'-camp." 

"Lots  of  it."  Robert  McLane  emptied 
a  cup  of  coffee  with  relish,  and  passed  it  for 
refilling.  "We  ain't  had  a  harder  winter  in 
118 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

years  up  north,  but  we  cut  some  splendid 
timber.  Still,  the  woods  gets  sorter  lone- 
some when  you're  in  'em  so  long.  Lots  o' 
times  when  the  lumbermen  got  to  telling 
yarns  about  home  it  kinder  made  me  think 
too  much  about  the  farm  here.  Guess  we 
was  all  glad  enough  when  we  broke  camp, 
and  started  down  the  tote-road." 

"You  ain't  so  fleshy  as  when  you  went 
away,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "Did  they  feed 
you  good?" 

"Pretty  good,  but  it  ain't  home.  I've 
been  sorter  hankerin'  for  the  kitchen  here, 
and  the  wood-pile,  and  old  Libby's  neigh, 
for  a  month  past.  I  felt  sorry  for  the  fel- 
lers who  went  on  the  drive." 

"Had  it  started  when  you  left?"  asked 
Dick. 

"The  river-landing  had,  but  they  won't 
break  the  roll-ways  for  another  week. 
They'll  have  a  big  drive  this  year.  We  had 
two  and  a  half  million  on  one  landing. 
Ashby's  was  the  only  logs  put  into  the 
119 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Drake  this  year.  Best  firm  I  ever  worked 
for." 

"It's  hard  enough  anyhow,"  said  Mrs. 
McLane.  "Take  another  dough-nut,  Rob. 
Lucky  I  made  a  hull  mess  of  'em  yesterday." 

"They  taste  extry  good,  too.  Our  cook 
was  all  right,  but  nothin'  ain't  like  home. 
Spring's  here  for  sure,  and  farm  work'll 
seem  just  the  thing.  I'm  sorter  hungry  to 
get  out  and  see  everythin'." 

"Leave  pokin'  'round  till  to-morrow,"  ad- 
vised Mrs.  McLane.  "I  never  seen  you 
quite  so  beat  afore." 

Rob  McLane  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"You're  on  the  lookout  for  somethin'  to 
doctor,  Ju,  but  I  ain't  liable  to  become  a  pa- 
tient. Just  a  day  or  two  loiterin'  round 
the  place  afore  I  start  work,  and  I  shall  be 
all  right.  I'm  goin'  out  now  to  watch  Dick 
milk." 

Ena  had  imagined  that  the  home-coming 
of  her  uncle  would  make  a  considerable 
change  at  the  farm,  but  it  was  not  so.  The 
120 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

slow,  silent  man  seemed  as  if  he  might  have 
resolved  long  ago  to  leave  the  conversational 
side  of  life  to  his  wife.  He  came  and  went 
unobtrusively,  attending  to  his  work  always, 
but  rarely  speaking  of  it. 

This  annoyed  Mrs.  McLane  at  times. 
"Your  father  don't  spit  out  no  thoughts  to 
make  room  for  new  ones,"  she  had  once 
complained  to  Dick.  "He's  awful  different 
from  me.  A  thing  ain't  clear  to  me  till  I've 
talked  it  round  and  round.  It's  one  o'  Rob 
McLane's  tormentin'  ways  that  he  don't 
have  no  social  times  over  his  actions." 

Dick,  however,  had  not  proved  sympa- 
thetic; indeed,  time  had  developed  taci- 
turnity with  him  also. 

Still,  there  were  evenings  in  the  first  week 
or  two  after  the  homecoming  when  Robert 
McLane  was  coaxed  to  talk  at  length,  and 
Ena  would  creep  as  close  to  him  as  the  rest 
to  hear  stories  of  the  lumber-camp  and  the 
various  experiences  of  the  woods.  He  al- 
ways talked  slowly,  his  pipe  in  and  out  of 
121 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

his  teeth,  but  what  he  said  was  good,  and 
the  tales  were  never  long  enough  for  the 
listeners.  Ena,  especially,  tried  to  draw 
out  their  length. 

"You're  most  as  fond  o'  lumber- jack 
yarns  as  the  twins,"  he  said  to  her  one  night 
laughingly.  "What  makes  it,  d'you  sup- 
pose?" 

Ena  shook  her  head. 

"I  guess  it's  'cause  you  reckon  it  out  o' 
the  common.  It's  wonnerful  the  way  a 
thing  they  ain't  used  to  fascinates  a  young 
one.  When  Jerry  and  Dan  here  get  to 
goin'  in  the  woods  theirselves  there  won't 
be  none  so  much  eagerness  about  it  all. 
I'm  not  sayin',  however,  but  what  there's 
things  about  it  that  I  like  myself.  It  kinder 
takes  my  breath  to  stand  in  among  the  tall 
timber  and  sorter  listen  to  the  silence  o'  the 
forest." 

Before  a  week  was  gone  Ena  and  her 
uncle  had  become  firm  friends.  Very  few 
words  were  ever  exchanged  between  them. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Often  they  were  content  to  sit  or  walk  to- 
gether quite  silently,  but  their  comradeship 
was  none  the  less  perfect.  Only  one  who 
knew  Robert  McLane  intimately  could  ever 
see  how  his  face  softened  when  the  girl 
would  deliberately  choose  to  be  beside  him. 

With  the  coming  of  spring  Ena  found 
things  at  the  farm  changed  considerably. 
Life  in  the  open  air  began,  and  school  be- 
came a  more  irregular  thing  than  it  had  been 
even  in  the  depths  of  winter.  Ross's  love  of 
the  outdoor  kept  him  from  sighing,  but  in 
the  evening  he  endeavoured  to  make  up. 

"And  you  don't  want  no  more  schoolin', 
anyway,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  complacently 
to  Ena.  "You  can  start  reg'lar  again  after 
the  summer  vacation,  if  so  be  you  want  to, 
but  till  school  lets  out  for  good  it'll  be  go 
a  day  and  stay  away  a  day  sort  o'  thing.  I 
don't  hold  with  a  girl  bein'  too  mighty  smart 
unless  she's  thinkin'  to  study  for  a  school- 
marm.  Did  you  ever  have  that  notion, 
Ena?" 

123 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Mrs.  McLane  paused  in  her  dish-washing 
to  propound  the  query.  Ena  looked  a  little 
bewildered,  and  sought  for  words  in  vain. 

"I  ain't  never  thought  o'  such  a  thing 
afore,  either,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "It  just 
struck  my  head  same  as  a  brick  might.  I 
don't  see  much  good  to  the  idea,  but  if  you 
sorter  hankered  after  it  later  I  guess  you're 
smart  enough  to  start  in,  even  if  you  didn't 
know  no  more  than  what  you've  learned 
a'ready.  For  my  part,  I'm  glad  enough  I 
learned  to  cook  and  sew,  and  I  don't  bother 
none  'cause  I  ain't  done  no  picture-paintin' 
and  things  o'  that  sort.  If  a  woman  knows 
how  to  keep  house  good  she  don't  need  to 
bother." 

"But  there's  lots  of  other  pleasant  things 
to  do,  too,"  suggested  Ena,  vigorously  wip- 
ing the  milk-pans. 

"Some  of  'em's  a  mighty  waste  o'  time," 

sniffed  Mrs.  McLane.     "I  can  recollect,  five 

or  six   years  back,   when   Loosher  took   a 

streak  she'd  like  to  be  real  genteel.     Seems 

124 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

there  was  some  club  or  other  up  in  Creston, 
and  Loosher  j'ined  it,  thinkin'  there  would 
be  lots  o'  good  in  it  for  her.  It  was  run 
by  a  woman  who  seemed  to  ha'  got  sick  o' 
the  plain  ways  o'  livin',  and  had  run  to  fancy 
notions,  as  you  might  say.  However, 
Loosher  asked  me  to  go  to  one  o'  their 
meetin's,  and  I  agreed,  and  took  some  car- 
pet-rags to  sew,  thinkin',  o'  course,  there 
wouldn't  be  no  foolishness  o'  sittin  with  our 
hands  lyin'  idle  in  our  laps  for  an  hour  or 
more. 

"When  I  got  there  I  found  I  was  the 
only  woman  who'd  had  the  common  sense 
to  bring  somethin'  to  while  away  the  time 
with.  Loosher  looked  at  my  bag  real  scan- 
dalised like,  and  whispered  to  me  to  sit  on 
it,  but  I  warn't  there  for  no  foolishness  o' 
that  sort.  Another  woman  next  to  me  said, 
'So  you've  brought  your  embroidery,  Mrs. 
McLane?'  I  watched  her  eyes  to  see  if  her 
mind  was  as  real  polite  as  her  voice,  and  I 
sensed  it  warn't.  'No,'  I  said,  'I  ain't,  I've 
125 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

brought  just  carpet-rags,  never  havin'  found 
time  for  no  nonsense  in  my  life.'  That  shut 
her  up  some,  and  made  Loosher  wiggle,  but 
I  just  kep'  on  sewin'. 

"Presently  some  one  on  the  platform 
jumped  up  and  took  a  sup  o'  water  and 
commenced  readin'.  It  real  disappointed 
me  when  I  saw  her  fidgetin'  with  a  handful  o' 
papers,  for  I  thought  we  was  all  got  to- 
gether for  a  good  chat  and  to  be  sociable- 
like,  same  as  at  a  bee.  You  can  just  tell 
what  I  felt  when  I  discovered  we  warn't 
even  goin'  to  have  nothin'  useful  told  to  us. 
That  paper  was  all  a  pack  o'  nonsense  about 
some  King  over  in  Europe  who'd  lived  and 
died  long  enough  ago  so's  he  ought  to  be 
forgotten  to  make  room  for  folks  what's 
doin'  their  stunts  now.  Charles  the  Twelfth 
o'  Sweden,  I  well  remember  they  called  him, 
but  I  misdoubt  if  I  remember  much  else, 
though  I  took  it  all  in  at  the  time.  Loosher 
sat  real  impressed,  but  I  kep'  on  with  my 
rags,  and  didn't  put  on  no  airs  o'  feelin'  so 
126 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

much  above  the  ord'nary  'cause  I  was  there. 
After  it  was  over  everybody  clapped,  and 
said  how  improvin'  it  was,  but  I  just  hustled 
off  so's  to  be  home  in  time  for  milkin'.  I 
tried  to  think  about  it  all  the  way  home,  but 
the  first  thing  I  saw  when  I  drove  in  the 
yard  was  Jerry'd  lost  the  seat  o'  his  pants. 
It  just  showed  me  how  much  good  Charles 
the  Twelfth  o'  Sweden  was  to  me!"  finished 
Mrs.  McLane  triumphantly. 

Ena  laughed,  stacking  the  milk-pans  near 
the  door. 

"And  there's  another  thing  I  can't 
abide,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  wrathfully,  "and 
that's  poetry.  I  ain't  talkin'  'bout  the  clip- 
pin's  they  put  in  the  Lindville  paper,  cause 
they're  often  real  good,  and  I  cut  'em  out 
many  a  time  and  put  'em  in  my  cook-book 
or  the  sewin'-machine  drawer,  so's  I  can  look 
at  'em  agen  if  ever  I  find  time.  What  I 
mean  is  where  the  hull  book  is  clear  give  up 
to  it.  Ed's  got  one  he  sets  such  store  by 
that  Loosher  keeps  it  wropped  up  all  the 
127 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

time  in  a  clean  napkin.  He's  told  me  about 
it  once  or  twice,  and  years  back  he  read  a 
hull  lot  out  to  me  and  Loosher,  same  as  to 
say  we  ought  to  know  it  anyway.  Just  the 
same,  there  wouldn't  ha'  been  no  such  fuss 
about  Romy  and  Juliet  if  the  girl  had  lived 
to  cook  his  vittles  and  mend  his  socks.  You 
can't  tell  me!"  and  Mrs.  McLane  delved 
down  into  the  bread-dough  with  a  will. 

Whatever  Mrs.  McLane's  sentiments, 
however,  she  could  find  no  fault  with  the 
way  Ena  applied  herself  to  housekeeping 
problems.  There  was  no  system  in  the 
home,  and  Ena  had  always  found  things 
rather  difficult  in  consequence.  A  truly 
casual  state  of  things  obtained,  which  might 
well  bewilder  anyone  accustomed  to  method 
and  endowed  with  a  sense  of  order.  In  vain 
Ena  tried  to  establish  a  certain  curriculum 
with  the  daily-recurring  work. 

"You're  gettin'  as  bad  as  Ross,  but  it 
won't  do  no  good,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  de- 
cidedly. "I  warn't  born  fussy,  and  I'll 
128 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

never  get  that  way.  I  know  it  torments  you 
to  have  all  the  parlour  chairs  took  up  in  the 
way  they  are,  'specially  when  you've  cleaned 
'em  off  once,  but  I  ain't  got  time  to  put 
a  thing  in  its  proper  place  if  so  be  the  proper 
place  for  it  is  upstairs,  and  I  happen  to  be 
downstairs.  Dick  and  Ross  even  asked  me 
one  day  to  do  without  a  garret.  They  were 
clear  crazy,  o'  course,  but  they  didn't  know 
it,  seemin'ly.  I'd  just  as  soon  try  to  do 
without  a  head  as  without  a  garret.  It  ain't 
only  for  the  old  clothes  you  can  stuff  there, 
but  it's  mighty  handy  for  a  spare  bed  if  you 
want  one  in  a  hurry.  I've  things  in  my 
garret  that  ain't  seen  the  light  this  twenty 
year,  and  what  else  I'd  do  with  'em  save  to 
stow  'em  up  there  I  don't  know." 

"Let  me  straighten  them  out  some  day," 
suggested  Ena,  feeling  suddenly  coura- 
geous. 

"For  the  land's  sake!  What  would  be 
the  good,  I'd  like  to  know?  People  with 
common  sense  put  things  in  the  garret  which 
129 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

they  may  want  again  some  day,  but  don't 
rightly  know.  It  ain't  no  good  draggin' 
'em  out  afore  you  do  want  'em,  and  maybe 
you  never  will.  That  reminds  me.  I'll 
have  that  old  wash-boiler  that  leaks  taken  up 
there  right  away.  It  ain't  no  more  earthly 
good  for  washin',  but  it  may  come  in  handy 
for  somethin'  else,  and  it'll  do  to  stuff  things 
in,  anyway.  You  call  the  twins,  Ena,  and 
I'll  have  'em  take  it  up  afore  I  forget.  I 
just  have  to  keep  my  eyes  open  to  see  that 
Dick  don't  take  such  things  and  fling  'em. 
If  you  hurry  you'll  catch  Jerry  and  Dan 
afore  they  go  up  to  the  ridge." 

And  Ena,  seeing  the  case  was  serious,  and 
Mrs.  McLane  really  fluttered  lest  she  lost 
the  wash-boiler,  did  as  she  was  asked.  At 
the  same  time  her  heart  sank  a  little.  She 
knew  that  this  was  the  very  attitude  which 
thwarted  the  family  interests  as  a  whole, 
and  which  Dick  and  Ross  resented  in  vain. 
The  non-progressivness  of  it  irritated 
their  youth,  and  their  ambitions,  and  made 
130 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

their  hill  of  difficulties  just  so  much  harder 
to  climb.  But  since  there  was  no  way  over 
the  obstacle — Mrs.  McLane  being  at  all 
times  faithful  to  her  own  point  of  view — 
Ena  sat  down  to  think  out  a  way  round  it, 
braced,  if  anything,  by  the  idea  of  having 
something  to  conquer.  She  and  the  boys 
would  work  together,  and  not  despair. 
Then,  if  their  spirit  was  the  truly  brave  and 
steadfast  one,  some  measure  of  achievement 
was  bound  to  come  at  last. 


131 


CHAPTER  IX 

DALE  came  home  one  Saturday  even- 
ing early  in  July  with  news  that  set 
the  McLane  household  all  agog.  It  being 
the  twilight  of  a  very  hot  day,  the  entire 
family  was  spread  out  under  the  trees  near 
the  front  porch.  Dale  threw  himself  down 
amongst  them  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  guess  you're  most  wilted,  same  as  we 
all  are,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  compassion- 
ately. "We're  just  through  chores,  and 
mighty  glad  of  it.  This  is  the  kind  o' 
weather  when  I  do  wish  I  could  spend  a 
week  on  an  iceberg,  just  to  get  the  feelin' 
o'  bein'  solid  again." 

"Let's  spend  a  day  in  the  woods  instead," 

suggested  Dale,  chewing  a  spear  of  grass. 

"They    say   the    blueberries    over    to    Pug 

Davidson's  old  slashing  are  thick  enough  to 

132 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

fill  rain-barrels.  Uncle  Ed  is  goin'  to  hitch 
up  first  thing  Monday  morning  and  get 
out  there.  Aunt  Loosher's  been  baking 
cookies  to-day  ready  for  it." 

"Land  sakes!"  Mrs.  McLane  and  the 
twins  sat  up  simultaneously.  "It'd  just  be- 
gun to  worry  me  thinkin'  perhaps  I  wouldn't 
get  all  the  blueberries  I  wanted  to  put  up 
this  year.  I  ain't  got  but  two  jars  left,  and 
if  I  couldn't  ha'  got  none  extry  for  pre- 
servin'- 

Dale  stemmed  the  tide  of  superfluities. 

"Let's  go  Monday  with  the  others,"  he 
suggested,  "and  then  you'll  have  enough  for 
everything  you  can  think  of,  and  more  be- 
sides." 

There  was  no  need  to  press  the  matter, 
and  plans  were  made  forthwith,  everybody 
helping  with  suggestions.  The  twins  found 
it  difficult  to  live  till  Monday,  and  were  up 
at  dawn  to  find  the  day  had  broken  with 
promise  of  splendid  weather. 

"Ain't  you  got  too  many  pails  and 
133 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

things?"  suggested  Rob  McLane,  looking 
over  his  shoulder  when  the  family  was 
packed  in  the  waggon  and  ready  to  start. 
"Seems  to  me  we  look  like  a  hardware  store 
movin'  quarters." 

"There's  just  one  extry  pail  to  fill  for 
Mandy  Perkins,  and  that  I'm  goin'  to  take," 
said  Mrs.  McLane  decidedly.  "Prue's 
dearly  fond  o'  blueberries,  or  used  to  be 
afore  her  insides  got  all  out  o'  kilter.  It 
ain't  but  right  that  we  should  give  a  thought 
to  them  that  ain't  goin'." 

No  opposition  being  offered,  the  waggon 
started,  taking  the  ravine  road  after  a  time, 
as  the  shortest  cut  to  Aunt  Loosher's. 
Here  they  found  the  buggy  waiting. 

Aunt  Loosher  peered  curiously  into  the 
well-filled  waggon.  "You  don't  never  do 
things  by  halves,  Ju,  and  it  looks  as  if  you 
was  goin'  out  prospectin'." 

"So  we  are,"  agreed  Mrs.  McLane  com- 
placently.    "We  all  feel  real  good.     You're 
lookin'  mighty  spry  yourself,  Loosher." 
134 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Aunt  Loosher  sniffed. 
"My  knees  ain't  so  bad  but  what  I'll  get 
around  and  pick  a  few  berries,  though  I'm 
trustin'  Ed  and  Dale  for  the  most.  This 
hot  weather  makes  me  feel  some  better  than 
I  did  in  the  winter.  I  was  real  glad  when 
I  got  out  o'  bed  this  mornin',  to  find  I  could 
walk  around  pretty  comfortable." 

"You're  real  lucky  in  havin'  things 
favour  you  days  you  want  to  go  out,"  said 
Mrs.  McLane.  "Sometimes  I  wish  'twas 
more  that  way  with  me,  though  I  ain't  com- 
plainin'  any  to-day.  It  takes  such  feet  as 
I've  got  to  know  what  a  real  tormentin' 
time  is.  That  everlastin'  toe  o'  mine- 
Here  Ross  broke  in  with  a  suggestion  con- 
cerning dinner,  and  the  conversation  was 
abruptly  changed,  Mrs.  McLane  becoming 
vitally  interested  during  the  rest  of  the 
drive  in  a  new  method  of  making  salt-rising 
bread.  By  the  time  their  destination  was 
reached  complete  harmony  prevailed,  and 
everyone  was  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 
135 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"I  didn't  know  anything  could  be  as 
pleasant  as  this,"  Ena  said,  sitting  on  a  log, 
with  her  pail  dangling,  while  she  watched 
Mrs.  McLane  make  camp.  "Shall  we  come 
out  here  often,  Aunt  June?" 

"There  ain't  nothin'  to  come  for  when 
the  blueberries  are  gone." 

"But  it  is  so  beautiful,"  sighed  Ena.  "It 
seems  such  a  pity  to  be  somewhere  else  when 
you  know  there's  a  lovely  place  like  this." 

"We  can't  come  for  those  sort  o'  no- 
tions," said  Mrs.  McLane,  disgusted  with 
a  view  of  life  which  excluded  so  much  of  the 
practical.  "This  ain't  nothin'  but  Pug 
Davidson's  old  slashin',  which  the  forest 
fires  burnt  over  some  couple  o'  years  back. 
I'm  real  pleased  to  see  there  ain't  been  no 
exaggeration .  about  the  amount  o'  blueber- 
ries. I'll  have  all  I  want,  and  I  do  dearly 
like  to  get  my  cellar  well  filled  with  pre- 
serves. If  you  can  bring  out  a  nice  Mason 
jar  o'  berries,  you  ain't  got  to  call  shame  on 
yourself,  no  matter  who  stops  in  to  eat. 
136 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Ain't  you  never  picked  blueberries  afore, 
Ena?" 

"No." 

"Terrible  artificial  your  life  must  ha' 
been.  It  makes  me  feel  glad  you  come  here, 
even  though  you'll  have  to  wear  gingham 
after  your  Californy  dresses  is  all  gone. 
Loosher  says  you're  growin',  and  I  mis- 
doubt but  what  you  are.  You're  gettin' 
good  and  strong,  anyway." 

Ena  swung  the  pail  on  her  arm,  and  rose, 
stepping  from  the  shade  into  the  hot  sun- 
shine, with  an  increasing  sense  of  joy.  The 
others  were  all  among  the  bushes.  Ena 
looked  for  Ross,  and  found  him. 

"I've  got  to  keep  up  my  reputation,"  he 
laughed.  "Ma  says  I  pick  blueberries 
faster  than  any.  Let  me  show  you,  Ena. 

"I'm  not  going  to  race,  lest  it  makes  the 
day  seem  to  go  quicker.  I  wish  we  could 
have  a  tent  and  live  here." 

"Pug  Davidson  meant  to  have  most  of 
this  timber  cut,  but  he  died  before  he  had 
137 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

time.  Father's  gone  off  to  look  at  it;  he 
slipped  away  when  ma  was  talking  to  you." 

Ena  laughed,  rattling  the  berries  into  her 
pail.  "Aunt  June  will  find  out  and  scold. 
Uncle  Rob  always  forgets  that  in  the  begin- 
ing." 

"Last  year  he  came  back  with  just 
enough  berries  for  his  dinner  in  the  crown  of 
his  hat,  but  he  seemed  so  mighty  sorry  that 
ma  overlooked  it.  He  always  acts  that  way 
in  the  timber." 

"I  know." 

Silence  fell  between  the  two.  Ena  for- 
got her  resolution  to  be  leisurely,  and 
worked  hard.  Presently,  as  they  cleared 
bush  after  bush,  they  came  upon  Aunt 
Loosher. 

"I  got  out  o'  the  way  o'  them  twins,"  she 
said,  not  stopping  to  look  up.  "My  nerves 
ain't  so  peaceable  as  they  might  be,  and  the 
way  Ju  lets  them  young  ones  run  around 
and  shriek  beats  creation.  It  just  shows 
she  don't  know  the  poor  health  some  people 
138 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

has,  or  she  couldn't  abide  it.  Jerry  and 
Dan  are  certainly  the  worst  young  ones  for 
noise  anywhere  to  be  found,  and  they  ain't 
lackin'  any  in  the  way  o'  mischief.  Did  you 
hear  how  they  set  traps  for  skunks  down 
near  the  creek,  and  Mandy  Perkins'  hired 
man  got  in  one?" 

Ross  ducked  his  head,  but  Ena  went  on 
with  her  work. 

"Fine  and  mad  Mandy  was,"  pursued 
Aunt  Loosher.  "I  guess  if  ever  she  was 
tormented  in  her  life  for  want  o'  her  voice 
it  was  then.  Seems  she  came  on  Jerry  and 
Dan  enjoyin'  theirselves  not  just  a  little  to 
think  o'  the  delight  o'  such  unexpected  mis- 
chief havin'  took  place,  and  all  caused  by 
their  two  selves.  Ju  would  be  mortal  of- 
fended if  I  said  that  to  see  young  ones  act 
that  way  don't  seem  very  bright  for  their 
future,  but  it's  what  I  think,  just  the  same. 
They  ought  to  be  home  learnin'  the  collect 
and  gospel  now  'stead  o'  pickin'  blueberries. 
That  might  teach  'em  a  little." 
139 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Aunt  Loosher's  voice  sounded  so  warped 
that  Ena  felt  obliged  to  put  in  an  extenuat- 
ing word  for  the  twins. 

"You  can't  paint  'em  white  to  me,"  Aunt 
Loosher  interrupted  decidedly.  "I've 
watched  'em  bein'  raised  all  along,  and  I 
know  what  they're  made  of.  Ju  ain't  never 
had  the  proper  strictness  with  young  ones. 
Seems  like  it's  always  those  who  don't  have 
children  who  knows  how  to  raise  'em." 

Ross  had  gone  on  ahead,  and  Ena  fol- 
lowed him  as  quickly  as  politeness  would  per- 
mit, leaving  Aunt  Loosher  still  complain- 
ing behind  the  bush.  By  this  time  the  whole 
community  had  got  somewhat  scattered,  and 
work  went  on  with  real  intensity  till  the  call 
came  for  dinner. 

"I  made  it  an  hour  late,  so's  work  needn't 
be  interrupted  before  it  had  to,"  announced 
Mrs.  McLane  jocosely.  "After  a  good 
meal  no  one  ain't  never  so  spry  again. 
Rob's  fixed  the  team  and  made  the  coffee, 
and  there's  about  all  he  has  done  in  the  way 
HO 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

o'  bein'  useful.  Just  the  same,  we've  got 
a  sight  o'  berries,  and  it's  a  grand  day  for 
gatheriri'  'em.  Loosher,  suppose  we  mix 
vittles?  You've  got  just  the  cookies  the 
twins  like,  and  Ed  always  eats  heavy  o'  my 
melon  pickles." 

Aunt  Loosher  distinctly  revived  under 
the  influence  of  good  coffee  and  plentiful 
provisions,  and  took  her  part  in  the  fun  that 
went  on  round  the  newspaper  tablecloth. 
Nobody  hurried,  for  a  great  deal  of  energy 
had  been  expended  during  the  morning,  and 
the  sun  was  now  intensely  hot  on  the  blue- 
berry patch. 

"Seems  like  there's  some  sense  in  what 
Ena  said  about  wantin'  to  stay  here  a  bit," 
said  Mrs.  McLane,  who  was  now  expanded 
with  a  general  sense  of  well-being.  "It  cer- 
tainly is  a  beautiful  place." 

"It  looks  almost  like  the  home  of  the 
fairies,"  said  Ena,  watching  the  sunlight 
dancing  through  the  trees. 

"I  never  believed  in  fairies,  nor  no  truck 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

o'  that  kind,"  said  Mrs.  McLane;  "but  I 
do  see  it's  a  pleasant  place,  and  I  mind  how 
Pug  Davidson  used  to  sorter  crow  'cause 
he'd  got  so  much  good  timber-land.  It  was 
wild  enough  when  he  settled  here,  and  he 
he  had  more'n  one  bout  with  the  Indians. 
The  farm  sorter  lies  out  o'  the  way,  but  that 
just  suited  Pug,  who  warn't  any  too  much 
in  tune  with  his  fellow-creatures.  Folks 
said  it  was  'cause  his  wife  died  early,  and 
maybe  they  was  right.  She's  buried  some- 
where in  the  woods  here,  so's  he  could  have 
her  handy  for  comp'ny.  You  can  see  the 
grave  from  the  old  corduroy  road  on  the 
other  side  o'  the  river.  Mandy  Perkins  was 
drivin'  'long  it  for  a  short  cut  one  day,  and 
she  seen  Pug  settin'  by  the  mound  talkin' 
away  real  uncanny-like.  She  told  the  story, 
and  I  guess  none  of  us  ever  felt  'twas 
properly  respectful  to  use  the  old  corduroy 
road  agen." 

"He  and  his  woman  pioneered  together," 
said  Uncle  Ed,  "and  that  brought  'em  real 
148 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

close.  They  was  half  a  generation  afore  us, 
and  knew  all  about  what  the  wilderness 
meant." 

"Lucindy  warn't  a  year  old  when  they 
found  a  wild-cat  right  by  her  cradle,"  said 
Mrs.  McLane.  "Pug  took  and  shot  it,  but 
Lucindy's  got  its  teeth-marks  in  her  arm 
to-day.  She  don't  come  to  the  old  place 
no  more,  and  I  guess  it's  'cause  her  daugh- 
ter's married  a  store-clerk  and  likes  to  live 
in  the  city.  I'll  say  that  I  always  liked 
Lucindy,  and  she'd  have  a  welcome  any  time 
she  stepped  inside  my  door.  If  I  knew 
rightly  where  she  lived,  I'd  just  like  to  send 
her  some  o'  these  blueberries  when  they're 
done  up.  I'll  warrant  they'd  taste  good  to 
her,  comin'  right  from  here." 

The  twins  had  gone  off  again,  each  with 
an  empty  pail,  but  the  rest  of  the  party 
showed  less  disposition  to  be  vigorous,  and 
the  afternoon  wras  chiefly  spent  in  the  woods. 
At  four  o'clock  the  first  preparations  for 
departure  reluctantly  began,  so  that  home 
140 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

might  be  reached  in  time  for  the  chores. 

"You  keep  the  tail  o'  your  eye  on  them 
twins,"  advised  Mrs.  McLane,  speaking  to 
her  husband.  "They've  got  a  real  innercent 
way  o'  pretendin'  not  to  know  nothin'  about 
time  for  startin',  which  don't  deceive  me  none, 
and  is  downright  provokin'.  Ross  and  Ena 
won't  be  much  better,  so  you'd  be  doin'  a 
sensible  thing  to  go  round  and  drive  'em  all 
in." 

"I  should  be  tuckered  out  if  I  had  so  many 
childern  to  look  after,"  said  Aunt  Loosher, 
when,  after  various  delays,  the  waggon  was 
ready  to  start.  "I'll  say  you're  not  without 
a  bit  o'  patience,  Ju.  Your  mind  must  be 
on  'em  all  the  time." 

"I  don't  take  no  extry  trouble,"  said  Mrs. 
McLane,  clambering  into  the  waggon. 
"Young  ones  on  a  farm  come  up  sorter  easy, 
and  do  well  besides.  Now  I  guess  none  of 
us  ain't  none  too  tired  to  sing  a  hymn  or 
two  when  once  we  get  a  fair  start.  Seems 
as  if  we  ought  to  do  somethin'  o'  the  sort, 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

to  show  we're  thankful  for  the  good  day 
we've  had.  Surely  you'll  be  to  meetin'  next 
Sunday,  Loosher?" 

"Maybe,"  answered  Aunt  Loosher  guard- 
edly. "I  ain't  been  for  quite  a  while,  but 
everybody  knows  why.  Yet  I  always  like 
to  go  to  meetin'  in  the  summer,  and  Lind- 
ville  has  as  good  a  minister  as  any  place." 

"We  go  summer  and  winter,"  said  Mrs. 
McLane  complacently,  "and  I  take  more 
comfort  now  that  the  young  ones  are  all  old 
enough  to  behave.  Ena  has  a  real  good 
influence  on  the  twins,  some  way  or  another, 
and  they  don't  dodge  her  as  they  do  me.  I 
didn't  have  such  a  tormentin'  time  with  get- 
tin'  'em  off  to  school  last  winter,  neither. 
Drive  a  bit  quicker,  Rob,  or  we'll  never  get 
home  in  time.  And  we'll  start  'Beulah 
Land'  right  now." 

The  hymn  went  lustily,  sung  in  a  sort  of 
rhythm  to  the  jolting  of  the  waggon,  and 
after  it  was  finished  others  followed.  Mrs. 
McLane  had  a  decided  taste  in  hymns,  and 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

preferred  those  of  a  martial  and  vigorous 
order.  "I  like  a  good  swing  to  'em,  and  a 
promise  at  the  end,"  she  was  wont  to  say, 
"and  then  you  kinder  feel  you're  singin'  for 
somethin'."  Her  voice  was  strong  and 
sweet,  and  she  led  in  any  community  she 
happened  to  be  in. 

Aunt  Loosher,  in  a  more  cheerful  frame 
of  mind  than  usual,  was  presently  left  at  her 
destination  with  Uncle  Ed  and  Dale,  the  lat- 
ter getting  out  of  the  waggon  a  little  re- 
luctantly. 

"You  grow  so,  and  get  to  look  so  much 
like  Dick,  that  presently  you  and  he'll  seem 
like  twins  too,"  laughed  Mrs.  McLane.  "It 
just  seems  funny  to  think  I'm  the  mother 
o'  boys  that's  gettin'  so  big.  Guess  I'll  have 
to  set  up  spectacles  and  a  hunch  in  my  back 
afore  long." 

She  whispered  the  story  of  Dick  and  Bess 

Hetherbridge  to  her  husband  as  they  drove 

along  again,  and  Robert  McLane  nodded  his 

head  from  time  to  time,  but  did  not  speak. 

146 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

They  thought  they  had  the  whole  wisdom  of 
the  thing,  sitting  there  in  the  front  of  the 
waggon  discussing  it;  but  perhaps  Dick  had 
some,  for  when  the  Hetherbridge  farm  was 
passed,  and  Mrs.  McLane  turned  round 
"just  to  see  if  the  blueberries  was  all  right," 
he  lay  with  his  head  on  a  blueberry  basket, 
and  his  eyes  closed,  and  no  one  could  tell 
even  when  the  home  farm  was  reached 
whether  he  had  been  asleep  or  not. 


147 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  hot  weather  remained,  and  all 
through  wheat  harvest  the  sun  shone 
with  a  persistency  which  at  last  became  some- 
what trying  to  the  workers  in  the  fields. 
The  weather  prophets  all  over  the  country- 
side were  nodding  their  heads  sagely,  and 
pronouncing  it  the  hottest  summer  in  a 
dozen  or  more  years.  Be  that  as  it  might, 
the  McLanes  were  not  the  only  ones  who 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  harvesting 
was  over,  and  the  barn-doors  shut  on  the 
yield  of  grain. 

"It's  the  first  time  in  a  couple  of  weeks 
that  I  haven't  had  more  or  less  of  a  head- 
ache," Dick  remarked  to  Ross,  as  they  were 
bowling  along  to  Creston  one  Saturday 
morning  in  September.  "The  last  day  or 
two  with  the  wheat  seemed  hard,  for  the  first 
time  I  can  remember.  Gen'rally  the  fields 
148 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

is  all  I  want.  I  like  farming  well  enough, 
if  only  money  was  a  little  quicker  in  coming 
along." 

Ross,  browned  to  the  colour  of  an  Indian, 
had  lain  stretched  on  a  pile  of  sacks  for  half 
the  journey.  He  lifted  his  head  as  the  last 
words  were  spoken.  It  was  a  long  time 
since  money  matters  had  been  discussed  be- 
tween the  two  boys,  and  Ross  knew  that 
something  lay  at  the  back  of  it. 

"I'm  thinking  about  your  going  to 
school,"  Dick  continued,  the  slow  drawl  in 
his  voice  that  meant  he  was  not  talking 
lightly.  "Father  ain't  said  a  word  to  me 
about  it  nor  I  to  him.  Seems  as  if  the  family 
ain't  properly  awake  to  \vhat  you  want  to 
do.  Dale  and  me  never  planned  particular 
for  education;  having  to  go  to  school  tor- 
mented us  more  than  anything.  Maybe 
that's  a  bit  against  you  and  maybe — 

"It  can't  be  this  year  anyway."  Ross 
spoke  decidedly,  sitting  up  beside  Dick,  his 
eyes  on  the  town  they  were  approaching. 
149 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

The  big  red  school-house  would  be  one  of 
the  first  buildings  passed. 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  it?" 
Dick  spoke  with  his  face  averted. 

"Yes,  I  knew  before  wheat  harvest  there 
was  no  use  in  asking.  Things  haven't  been 
any  easier  this  year.  I'm  not  grumbling 
any  and  I'll  wait  another  twelve  months." 

"You've  got  an  everlasting  sight  of  hope." 
Dick  whipped  up  the  horses  absently,  star- 
ing at  the  blue  hills  lying  ahead.  "I  don't 
see  how  you  keep  up  courage  with  every- 
thing against  you.  I  guess,  though,  you've 
felt  better  this  last  year." 

Ross  nodded  affirmation.  The  two  boys 
were  fencing  round  a  delicate  subject,  and 
they  knew  it.  Ten  months  ago,  when  Dick 
had  decided  to  offer  opposition  to  Ena's  com- 
ing, the  family  purse-strings  had  been  at 
their  slackest.  But  the  further  incubus 
Dick  had  dreaded  had  proved  to  be  a  bless- 
ing, and  he  had  been  waiting  all  year  to  say 
so. 

150 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"I  don't  wonder  you've  felt  kinder  hope- 
ful, and  as  if  something  had  come  along  to 
help  out.  I'm  real  glad  it's  so.  Every- 
body ought  to  have  someone  they  can  go  to 
to  get  straightened  out.  I  guess  it's  nothing 
but  the  ordinary  that  makes  it  so  you  can't 
go  to  school  this  year." 

"If  I  start  about  seventeen  that's  as 
young  as  any  farmer-boy  ought  to  hope  for," 
Ross  said,  all  his  latent  courage  in  his  voice. 
"School's  a  big  thing  and  you  can't  get  it 
for  the  asking.  It's  got  to  be  worked  for, 
of  course." 

"I'm  glad  there's  one  in  the  family  set 
on  getting  an  education.  It's  a  grand  thing, 
anyway;  sorter  lifts  you  above  the  common, 
and  puts  you  where  you  can  get  even  with 
the  world.  Just  the  same,  I  ain't  a  mite 
afraid  it'll  wean  you  from  home  things. 
The  land's  right  in  your  blood  and  the  long- 
ing of  it'll  stay  there.  You'll  not  have  to 
make  a  living  by  it  for  that  to  be." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  horses  were  hitched 
151 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

in  front  of  a  grocery  store,  and  the  boys  had 
gone  about  their  several  errands.  Creston 
was  a  comparatively  lively  place  on  Satur- 
days, with  the  row  of  farmer's  waggons  lin- 
ing either  side  of  Main  Street,  and  neigh- 
bours in  plenty  to  meet  and  gossip  with 
while  marketing  was  done.  On  any  other 
day  the  wooden  sidewalks  were  peopled 
chiefly  with  the  little  groups  of  loafers  and 
loungers  common  to  any  small  country  town. 

Ross  finished  his  errands,  and  went  to  the 
post-office  for  the  mail.  Here  he  found 
Uncle  Ed  on  the  doorstep,  in  an  attitude  of 
patient  expectation. 

"Ten  minutes  afore  the  afternoon  dis- 
tribution," he  said.  "I  don't  know  why  I 
come  here  so  reg'lar  Saturdays,  'cause  nine 
times  out  o'  ten  there  ain't  no  mail.  I  guess 
it's  just  the  Creston  paper  any  of  us  come 
for,  savin'  a  chat.  Dale's  to  town  with  me 
to-day,  and  he  was  wonderin'  if  you  thought 
any  of  goin'  to  school  here  this  September?" 

"Not  for  another  year."  Ross  leaned  his 
152 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

elbow  on  the  window,  and  looked  over  to  the 
school-house.  "I'll  not  be  quite  seventeen 
even  then,  and  it'll  be  time  enough." 

"I  thought  you  sorter  hankered  to  go  this 
year,"  Uncle  Ed  suggested,  looking  keenly 
at  the  boy's  face. 

"I  don't  believe  I  thought  I  really  could, 
just  yet.  Anyway,  it  can't  be  done." 

"Ain't  there  no  one  to  help  you  out  any?" 

"I  guess  I  can  help  myself."  Ross 
shifted  his  position  a  little  impatiently,  look- 
ing with  distaste  at  a  group  of  loungers  in 
the  post-office. 

"If  you  can't  there  ain't  much  chance  for 
you,"  Uncle  Ed  observed  sententiously, 
cutting  a  wad  of  tobacco  with  deliberation. 
"If  I  had  a  boy  I  wouldn't  be  everlastin' 
boostin'  him,  same's  implyin'  he  hadn't  no 
legs  of  his  own.  Not  but  what  your  case  is 
somethin'  more  of  a  tangle,  your  ma'  bein' 
the  way  she  is;  I  ain't  a  word  to  say  agen 
her  spirit  o'  helpin',  but  she's  provokin'  slow 
in  observin'  things  that  lie  right  to  her  door. 
153 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

You  don't  need  to  shuffle  none  'cause  I  ain't 
talkin'  no  treason,  but  just  what  everybody 
knows.  Didn't  she  take  four  o'  her  best 
chickens  out  to  that  Polish  family  down  by 
the  creek  last  week,  and  the  twins  runnin', 
round  at  the  same  time  with  hardly  a  bit  o' 
shoe  to  their  feet?" 

Ross  laughed,  but  there  was  a  touch  of 
despair  in  the  sound  which  did  not  escape  his 
listener. 

"Don't  you  get  losin'  heart,  just  the 
same,"  pursued  Uncle  Ed,  looking  up  and 
down  the  street  as  if  his  thoughts  had  begun 
to  take  other  channels.  "All  you've  got  to 
do  to  get  a  thing  is  to  want  it  bad  enough. 
Don't  you  let  up  none  on  wishin*.  I  sorter 
feel  you'll  be  able  to  shape  things  your  way 
a  bit  later  on.  Dick'll  likely  go  in  the  woods 
with  his  father  this  winter,  and  that'll  mean 
a  bit  more  help  to  the  fam'ly.  Now  I'll  go 
in  and  get  the  paper,  or  Loosher'll  be  with- 
out the  news  and  that'll  surely  provoke 
her." 

154 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

No  more  was  said  by  anybody  on  the 
school  question,  and  Ross  settled  down  to 
another  year  at  the  farm.  As  the  autumn 
advanced,  Dick  decided  to  go  into  the  woods 
with  his  father  for  the  winter,  and  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane  agreed  to  the  decision  without  demur. 
Well  as  the  little  farm  was  worked,  strained 
circumstances  had  always  been  the  order  of 
the  day,  and  there  seemed  no  likelihood  of 
any  new  order  of  things  transpiring. 

"We  ought  to  be  thankful  for  a  roof  over 
our  heads,  and  enough  to  eat,"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane,  as  she  began  to  patch  and  darn  the 
clothes  needed  for  the  lumber-camp.  "That 
Polish  family  down  by  the  creek  had  nothin' 
but  a  dugout  to  live  in  the  first  winter  they 
was  over  from  the  old  country.  Land 
knows  if  they  ever  had  enough  to  eat. 
Marthy  Swiggs  says  they  had,  but  I  ain't 
none  so  sure.  When  Marthy's  got  a  good 
loaf  o'  bread  and  a  coffee-pot  in  front  o'  her 
she's  apt  to  think  other  folks  has  the  same, 
and  it  ain't  always  so.  I've  seen  things  as 
155 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

makes  me  glad  enough  for  the  farm  here, 
even  if  we  ain't  got  as  much  as  we  want 
sometimes." 

Indian  summer  was  long  and  lovely  that 
year,  and  corn-husking  went  on  apace.  Ena 
had  arrived  too  late  the  previous  year  to  en- 
joy this  last  harvesting  of  the  fields,  but 
now  she  went  out  with  Ross  part  of  each  day, 
amusing  everybody  at  first  by  her  efforts 
to  help,  but  finally  succeeding  to  some  ex- 
tent. She  liked  the  ride  back  and  forth  in 
the  slow,  jolting  waggon,  and  enjoyed  the 
soft  stillness  of  the  fields. 

"It's  better  than  working  in  the  house," 
she  said  to  Ross  one  day,  when  they  were  up 
by  the  ridge.  "Aunt  June  was  rather 
shocked  when  I  said  so  yesterday,  but  I 
think  it's  true.  Nothing  could  be  much  bet- 
ter than  this." 

She  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  a  minute, 

and  Ross  looked  at  her  tanned  face,  from 

which  the  old  blue  sun-bonnet  had  fallen 

back.     Sometimes    he    thought    Ena    was 

156 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

changing — not  in  mere  growth,  which  was 
observable  enough — but  in  a  subtler  way  he 
could  not  quite  comprehend. 

"It's  because  you're  living  so  differently," 
he  said  suddenly,  the  truth  dawning  on  him 
in  a  flash.  "Poor  people's  children  are 
never  like  the  others.  They're  always  in- 
dependent, and  never  have  a  chance  to  lean 
on  anything  or  anybody.  Don't  you  know 
how  surprised  you  were  at  us  the  first  two 
or  three  weeks  you  came?" 

"What!"  Ena  came  back  from  her  min- 
ute of  dreaming  with  a  start. 

"You  thought  we  could  do  so  much  for 
our  ages.  When  Jerry  drove  to  Creston 
you  were  frightened  of  a  runaway" — Ross 
laughed  heartily  at  the  remembrance — "and 
I  know  you  didn't  rest  till  he  got  back,  and 
you  saw  he  was  safe.  Now  you're  getting 
to  be  just  as  independent  yourself." 

"Aunt  June  said  yesterday  she  was  mak- 
ing a  woman  of  me,"  Ena  said  placidly,  be- 
ginning work  again.  "I  can  do  a  great 
157 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

many  things  now  that  I  thought  wonderful 
when  I  first  came." 

"I  wish  you  couldn't."  The  curious  re- 
gret was  at  the  boy's  heart  again.  "When 
I  get  an  education  there  won't  be  the  need. 
I  shall  make  things  different  for  you." 

Ena's  hands  were  idle  again. 

"Didn't  you  want  to  go  to  school  this 
term?"  she  asked.  "When  we  talked  up  in 
the  garret  last  winter  you  said  you  might 
be  going  to  school  this  last  September." 

Ross  bent  his  head. 

"It'll  be  another  year.  This  winter  I'm 
going  to  stay  on  the  farm,  as  Dick'll  be 
away.  I  shan't  be  losing  much  time,  for  I 
haven't  caught  up  to  you  yet." 

Ena  looked  puzzled.  Some  things  at  the 
farm  were  obvious  enough  to  her,  but  over 
others  a  veil  of  silence  had  always  remained 
dropped.  She  shrank  instinctively  from  any 
question  which  might  suggest  a  desire  to 
probe.  Poor  and  simple  as  the  McLanes 
were,  they  had  their  own  pride  and  notions 
158 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

of  reservation,  on  which  no  stranger  ever 
dared  to  trample. 

"I'd  be  losing  time  if  it  wasn't  for  you," 
Ross  went  on,  troubled  by  the  unusual 
thoughtfulness  of  Ena's  face.  "You've 
been  ahead  of  me  all  the  time,  and  if  you 
keep  up  study  this  winter,  as  you  say  you're 
going  to,  I  guess  you'll  remain  so." 

"I  will — of  course  I  will;  talking  about  it 
makes  me  half  wish  the  snow  would  come 
right  now  and  shut  us  all  in  again.  We'll 
see  how  much  we  can  do.  I  want  you  to 
get  on — I  do  want  you  to  succeed." 

Ross's  hand  lay  near  hers,  and  she  covered 
it  with  her  soft  palm,  smiling  at  him  under 
the  brim  of  his  ragged  straw  hat.  In  the 
rare  moment  of  demonstration  she  was 
startled  to  see  a  sudden  quiver  of  his  lips. 
It  was  controlled  instantly,  but  as  Ena  with- 
drew her  hand  she  knew  that  tears  had 
fallen  under  the  lowered  hat-brim,  and  her 
heart  beat  quickly  at  the  thought  of  what  she 
had  stirred. 

159 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"•I  know  you  will  succeed,  too,"  she  said 
presently,  steadying  her  voice  to  a  dead- 
level  as  she  went  on  working.  "Uncle  Ed 
says  you  always  make  most  of  what  you 
have  to  fight  for,  and  I  guess  he's  right. 
He  says  you've  got  to  keep  walking  on  to 
something  farther  all  the  time,  or  else  you'd 
die  in  your  tracks.  Don't  you  remember 
when  he  talked  to  us  that  day  we  went  berry- 
picking?" 

"Yes."     Ross's  face  was  calm  as  ever  now. 

"He  said  he  had  had  a  hard  row  to  hoe, 
but  he  was  glad  of  it,"  Ena  went  on. 
"When  he  talks  it  makes  me  feel  it's  a  good 
thing  to  have  luck  against  you,  and  I  want 
to  be  just  one  of  the  poorest  people  who  ever 
fought  up  to  fortune." 

"I  don't  mind  feeling  ragged  when  I'm 
with  Uncle  Ed."  Ross  acknowledged  smil- 
ingly. "He's  always  had  the  same  helpful 
way,  I  guess,  but  I've  never  noticed  it  so 
much  till  lately.  He  talks  a  lot  to  you, 
Ena." 

160 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Because  we're  natural  sort  of  friends." 
Ena  pulled  loose  the  strings  of  her  sun-bon- 
net, and  threw  it  on  the  stubble,  shaking  her 
damp  curls  into  order.  By  Ross's  special 
wish  she  had  up  to  now  eschewed  the  tight 
neck-braids  and  huge  bows  of  ribbon  fash- 
ionable in  the  neighbourhood  for  girls  of  her 
age.  Mrs.  McLane  had  more  than  once 
sniffed  at  the  two  small  bows  which  held 
back  the  long  curls,  but  Ena  had  held  her 
own  in  the  matter,  and  Ross  had  found  peace 
accordingly. 

"I  want  you  to  keep  looking  like  you  did 
when  you  first  came,"  he  had  said  to  her 
more  than  once — and  Ena  was  beginning  to 
know  what  he  meant. 

"We're  natural  sort  of  friends,"  the  girl 
repeated.  "I  told  Uncle  Hugo  about  him 
the  last  time  I  wrote  to  California.  That 
was  nearly  three  months  ago  and  I  haven't 
had  an  answer  yet."  Ena's  face  clouded  a 
little. 

"You  don't  care  so  much,  do  you?"  Ross 
161 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

came  a  little  nearer,  the  anxiety  he  was  too 
awkward  to  adequately  express  apparent  on 
his  face.  "You  don't  pine  for  the  folks  out 
there,  do  you?" 

"No." 

"You'll  hear  soon  enough,"  said  Ross, 
satisfied.  He  went  to  work  with  redoubled 
energy,  content  that  Ena  sat  idly  in  the 
sunshine.  It  seemed  as  if  all  sorts  of 
shadows  had  vanished  in  the  one  short  morn- 
ing. Both  had  a  smile  on  their  faces  when 
at  last  the  dinner-bell  clanged  noisily  across 
the  fields. 

"I'll  never  husk  corn  again  without  think- 
ing about  to-day."  Ross  laughed  as  he 
helped  Ena  into  the  waggon.  "I've  got 
where  I  sort  of  want  things  to  come  along 
and  shake  their  fists  at  me.  I  didn't  know  a 
real  happy  feeling  was  ever  as  good  as  this." 


162 


CHAPTER  XI 

fTlHE  winter  that  followed  was  severe, 
A  and  the  long  months  of  being  prac- 
tically shut  in  by  the  snow  grew  tedious  at 
last.  Even  Ross  and  Ena,  who  made  good 
use  of  the  leisure  the  frozen  fields  enforced, 
were  scarcely  less  demonstrative  in  their 
pleasure  than  the  twins  when  the  spring 
thaws  finally  set  in.  Dick  and  his  father 
had  been  sadly  missed,  and  the  days  were 
counted  till  their  probable  return. 

Ross  had  been  the  head  of  the  family  all 
winter,  and  the  experience  had  done  him 
good.  Mrs.  McLane  had  complained  on 
more  than  one  occasion  of  his  tendency  to 
over-discipline  the  twins,  but  with  this  ex- 
ception things  had  run  smoothly  enough. 

"I  don't  never  fear  for  real  quarrels  in 
the  fam'ly,"  Mrs.  McLane  had  confided  to 
Ena  on  one  occasion.  "The  childern  are 
163 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

just  as  clannish  one  with  another  as  they 
can  be,  and  one  McLane  will  always  stick 
up  for  another,  no  matter  what.  It  sorter 
grows  with  'em,  too,  as  they  grow  older. 
There's  been  one  or  two  bits  o'  fuss  'twixt 
Ross  and  the  twins  this  winter,  but  it's  'cause 
he  wants  to  lick  'em  into  shape  too  quick. 
There's  a  few  years  they've  got  to  have  o' 
bein'  heathens,  and  they  know  it,  and  to 
bring  'em  up  too  sharp  is  sorter  cheatin' 
'em  out  o'  their  birthright,  and  they  know 
that  too.  Once  they  come  to  find  out  what's 
so  and  what  ain't  they  never  get  to  kickin' 
their  heels  aloft  again,  and  it's  a  poor  mother 
that  makes  a  child  grow  up  afore  it  has  to. 
I  ain't  never  been  pernickety  with  young 
ones,  nor  set  on  makin'  'em  over-behave 
theirselves.  Give  a  child  its  childhood,  and 
if  it  wants  to  take  it  standin'  on  its  head, 
let  it  for  sure.  When  they  feel  a  hankerin' 
for  older  ways  they'll  take  to  'em,  but  I 
ain't  never  one  to  force  it.  The  cradle  stops 
rockin'  quick  enough." 
164* 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Ross  is  ambitious  for  them,"  said  Ena, 
adjusting  a  patch  to  the  knee  of  a  small 
stocking. 

"I  know  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  ap- 
provingly, "and  later  on  he'll  find  it's  all 
right,  and  that  he  needn't  ha'  worried. 
They'll  sorter  justify  theirselves.  Jerry's 
goin'  to  be  as  smart  as  we  want,  and  push 
his  way  real  good,  or  else  he'd  never  ha' 
been  born  with  a  red  head.  I  guess  Ross 
knows  it  all  right,  but  he's  over-anxious. 
He  was  always  inclined  to  be,  and  it  ain't 
leavin'  him  any.  Sometimes  this  winter  it's 
sorter  worried  me  to  see  him  work  so  hard 
over  his  books,  but  then  I've  remembered 
the  tales  o'  many  another  American  boy 
that's  plugged  his  way  up  to  better  things 
just  that  way." 

"It  would  worry  him  if  he  couldn't  study," 
Ena  said.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
talked  to  Mrs.  McLane  on  the  subject. 

"I  guess  it  would,  though  he's  worked  with 
twice  the  heart  since  you  come,  Ena.  He 
165 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

used  to  have  spells  just  before  that  which 
no  one  didn't  quite  understand.  Seems  a 
real  blessin'  them  Californy  folks  acted  as 
they  did.  Your  Uncle  Rob  always  wanted 
a  girl  round,  but  the  Lord  never  sent  nothin' 
but  boys,  and  the  last  time  two  of  'em  at 
once,  same  as  to  say  that's  what  we  got  for 
hankerin'.  One  thing  I'll  say  is,  they're  all 
good  boys.  A  bit  skittish  when  they're  real 
young,  and  a  sorter  natural  knack  o'  tor- 
mentin'  the  neighbours,  but  that  don't  count 

none "  and  Mrs.  McLane  chuckled  for 

several  minutes  over  some  reminiscence  she 
did  not  disclose. 

Dick  and  his  father  came  home  from  the 
woods  tired,  but  in  good  health  and  spirits. 
Robert  McLane  always  seemed  to  be  en- 
veloped in  a  curious  peace  the  moment  work 
on  the  farm  began,  as  if  he  found  it  an- 
swered all  his  yearnings. 

"I  heard  a  partridge  drumming  on  the 
ridge  this  mornin',"  he  said  to  Ena  one  day. 
"It  sorter  thrilled  me,  too.  I  don't  never 
166 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

have  to  make  effort  to  see  and  hear  the 
sights  and  sounds  o'  Xature.  Seems  I'm 
right  with  it  all  the  time.  When  the  wind 
gets  soft  in  the  spring  it  seems  as  if  every 
bit  o'  me  aches  to  be  out  from  dawn  to 
dark." 

Six  weeks  after  the  words  were  spoken 
Robert  McLane  was  stricken  with  typhoid 
fever,  and  lay  for  weeks  a  worn  and  wasted 
wreck  of  his  former  self.  The  calamity 
overpowered  the  family  a  little  at  first. 
Good  health  had  been  so  universal  amongst 
them  that  the  idea  of  sickness — and  serious 
sickness — was  something  not  be  realised 
at  once.  The  despair  of  it  came  in  due 
course,  however,  and  there  were  long  days 
and  nights  of  watching  and  anxiety,  whicli 
wore  even  buoyant  Mrs.  McLane  to  a  state 
of  tremulousness.  In  the  end  the  tide 
turned  safely,  and  the  long  process  of  con- 
valescence began. 

Ena  aided  here.  The  intimate  touch  with 
sorrow  and  suffering  called  forth  prema- 
167 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

turely  the  slumbering  instincts  of  woman- 
hood, and  when  Mrs.  McLane  collapsed 
from  sheer  exhaustion,  Ena  was  ready  to 
take  her  place.  In  the  hot  little  room  her 
presence  came  as  a  boon  to  the  sufferer. 

"You've  the  natural  knack,"  he  said  to  her 
more  than  once.  "None  too  many  words, 
and  yet  anyone  can  see  you  understand. 
This  is  the  first  summer  I've  ever  been  laid 
aside,  and  it  seems  to  me  the  sun  never  shone 
so  hot  afore.  My  mind  goes  out  to  the 
fields  every  minute.  Everything  out-doors 
keeps  callin'  me,  and  yet  I  can't  raise  arm 
nor  limb  to  get  there.  I  misdoubt  some- 
times if  I'll  be  out  for  wheat  harvest." 

"If  you  don't  lose  heart  you  will.  At 
any  rate,  you'll  be  able  to  sit  out  on  the 
porch,  and  watch  them  in  the  fields,"  Ena 
soothed. 

"Dick   and    Ross   ha'   had   it   hard  this 

summer,"    Robert    McLane    mused,    "but 

there's  grit  in  both  of  'em.     Farmer  boys 

don't    know    nothin'    about    sittin'    in    the 

168 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

middle  o'  the  lap  o'  luxury,  but  they  learn 
sooner  than  the  others  how  to  stand  with 
the  shoulders  back,  and  take  things  square 
in  the  jaw.  There's  a  deal  in  the  learnin' 
how  to  take  life  when  you're  real  young.  I 
ain't  never  preached  to  the  childern,  but  I've 
sorter  looked  at  'em  right  from  the  cradle 
up  same  as  to  say  I  don't  want  'em  to  think 
o'  the  world  just  as  a  play-place — leastways, 
not  till  chores  is  done." 

Ena  put  her  cool  cheek  on  his  hand,  stop- 
ping its  restless  wandering  over  the  faded 
quilt.  "Anyway,  I'm  glad  to  be  lyin'  here, 
comin'  back  slow  to  the  home-like  things 
agen — the  creakin'  o'  the  old  pump,  and  the 
roosters  crowin',  and  the  wavin'  o'  the 
wheat.  If  you  ain't  never  been  sick  you 
don't  know  the  feelin'  of  it,  girl.  Yest'day 
ma  lifted  me  a  bit  so's  I  could  see  the  barn, 
and  I  just  tracked  the  pathway  with  my  eye, 
wonderin'  why  I  hadn't  never  thought  how 
good  it  was  to  walk  along  it  afore.  But  I'm 
most  of  all  glad  'cause  o'  the  childern. 
169 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Seems  as  if  I  want  to  see  'em  pushed  ahead 
a  bit  more  afore  the  time  comes  for  me  to 
lie  quiet  for  good.  I  want  to  sorter  be  at 
the  back  of  'em  even  if  they  don't  see  me 
there.  It  ain't  that  I'm  fearsome  for  'em 
— but  it's  just  the  feelin'  the  Lord  puts  in 
your  heart  when  you  peep  atween  the  cradle- 
quilts  for  the  first  time,  and  you  don't  never 
lose  it.  A  sorter  hoverin3  feelin' — I  ain't 
never  been  able  to  find  no  word  for  it  'cept 
that." 

"I  know."  Ena  soothed  as  a  woman 
might,  and  presently  he  fell  asleep.  When 
the  breathing  had  become  regular  she  slipped 
from  the  room  and  out  on  to  the  front  porch. 
The  boys  were  coming  home  from  the  fields, 
but  Ena  had  no  energy  left  to  run  to  meet 
them.  It  was  good  enough  to  rest  back  in 
the  old  hickory-chair,  and  wait  till  Dan 
came  to  whisper  that  dinner  was  ready. 

The  two  elder  boys  found  little  time  for 
the  sick-room,  but  they  were  constant  enough 
in  their  inquiries  after  their  father.  Ena 
170 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

noticed  with  some  surprise,  however,  that 
even  after  convalescence  was  well  advanced, 
the  worried  looks  did  not  leave  their  faces, 
and  she  spoke  of  it  one  day  to  Mrs.  McLane. 

"They  need  not  fear  now,  and  yet  they 
seem  to,"  Ena  finished,  when  she  had  ex- 
plained the  reason  of  her  remarks.  "Have 
you  guessed  why  it  is,  Aunt  June?" 

Mrs.  McLane  was  baking  a  batch  of  pies, 
and  she  stopped  to  look  into  the  oven. 

"Don't  you  worry  none,  Ena,  but  just 
keep  a  bright  face  for  the  sick-room.  That's 
all  we  want  you  to  do.  Maybe  the  boys  is 
a  bit  flustrated  with  havin'  everythin'  on 
their  hands  this  summer,  but  troubles  pass 
in  time,  so  don't  you  be  hinderin'  'em  any 
by  lookin'  at  'em.  The  thing  that's  got  to 
be  seen  to  most  is  gettin'  Rob  McLane  on 
his  feet  agen,  and  you  seem  to  be  pretty 
handy  at  doin'  it." 

Ena  knew  then  that  the  rest  of  the  family 
were  in  possession  of  some  secret  anxiety 
which  was  being  kept  from  the  sick-room, 
171 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

and  she  held  her  peace.  At  the  same  time 
misgivings  would  come,  and  it  was  a  little 
lonely  not  to  be  able  to  share  them  with 
anybody. 

One  afternoon  the  following  week  Uncle 
Ed  drove  over  to  see  the  invalid,  and  tied 
his  horse  to  the  hitching-post  with  a  good 
deal  of  deliberation.  Ena  was  in  the  sick- 
room, and  she  did  not  vacate  as  he  entered. 

"Thought  I'd  get  along  afore  you  was  up 
and  about  again,"  he  said  to  Robert  Mc- 
Lane  cheerfully,  seating  himself  on  the  end 
of  the  bed.  "I  saw  Ju  in  the  kitchen,  and 
she  said  you  was  to  be  up  for  awhile  for 
the  first  time  to-morrow.  How  does  it  feel 
to  think  o'  that?" 

"Good."  Robert  McLane  smiled  wearily. 
"I'm  frettin'  to  be  round  agen.  It  seems  as 
if  they've  kept  me  here  longer  than  needs 
be,  and  a  few  days  back  Ju  took  it  in  her 
head  to  move  the  bed  so's  I  don't  get  the 
view  I  did.  Just  give  me  your  shoulder, 
Ed,  and  wheel  the  bed  round  a  bit  so's  I 

ra 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

can  see  the  land.  No  one  don't  know  how 
tired  I  am  o'  wall-paper." 

Uncle  Ed  hesitated  a  moment,  then  com- 
plied. "Don't  you  get  to  worryin'  none,"  he 
suggested. 

Robert  McLane  did  not  hear.  He  was 
straining  his  eyes  towards  the  nearest  wheat- 
field. 

"It's  yeller — awful  yeller  for  wheat  that's 
little  more'n  past  the  milk,"  he  said,  puzzled. 
"Is  that  them  furrowin'  in  yonder  field? 
What  in  the  land He  paused,  strain- 
ing nearer  the  window,  and  when  he  spoke 
again  his  voice  had  changed. 

"It  ain't  yeller  like  that  for  nothin'.  It's 
the  chinch-bug,  Ed!  The  chinch-bug  is  on 
the  wheat,  and  you  must  ha'  seen  it  good 
enough  as  you  come  by !  Why  ain't  no  one 
told  me?" 

"There  warn't  no  help  for  it,  and  so  what 

was  the  use  o'  tellin'  you  afore  you  had  to 

know?     The  boys  has  made  a  plucky  fight, 

but    you    know    what    the    chinch-bug    is, 

173 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

'specially  when  it  comes  now.  It  ain't  no 
good  worry-in',  neither.  You  ain't  the  only 
one  with  a  ruined  crop." 

"What  with  sickness,  and  a  spoiled  har- 
vest, the  Lord  seems  layin'  His  hand  heavy 
on  this  little  house,"  Robert  McLane  said. 
He  was  not  over  the  shock  of  his  discovery 
yet,  and  he  was  lying  back  in  his  old  place. 

"Not  so  partic'lar  heavy.  You're  through 
with  your  sickness,  and  wheat-sowin'll  come 
round  again.  Don't  take  on  none,  or  the 
boys'll  fairly  give  up,"  advised  Uncle  Ed, 
who  knew  well  how  to  thrust  forward  potent 
suggestions.  "It's  real  disheartenin'  to  'em 
that  this  pest  should  ha'  happened  when  they 
was  workin'  things  all  on  their  own. 
They're  just  sick  over  it." 

"It  ain't  no  fault  of  theirs.  My!  it  seems 
as  if  the  scent  o'  one  trouble  brings  another." 

"You're  through  with  your  sickness,  so 

just  give  yourself  up  to  thanksgivin'  for 

that.     We've  had  the  chinch-bug  afore,  and 

we'll  likely  have  it  again.     It  ain't  the  hard- 

174 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

est  thing  pioneer   folks  has  had  to   fight, 
Rob." 

"That's  so."  Robert  McLane  was  al- 
ready bracing  himself.  "Just  sorter  hint 
to  the  boys  that  it  warn't  no  great  shock, 
and  I'm  through  repinin'.  Do  it  sorter 
careful,  Ed,  so's  to  make  'em  sure  what 
you're  sayin'  is  so." 

Uncle  Ed  had  risen.  He  nodded  acquies- 
cence, and  Ena,  who  had  sat  half-forgotten, 
followed  him  out  of  the  room,  and  on  to  the 
front  porch.  She  clung  to  his  arm,  detain- 
ing him. 

"What  does  it  mean,  Uncle  Ed?" 

"There'll  be  no  wheat-crop,"  said  Uncle 
Ed  tersely.  "Ju  wanted  me  to  come  over 
and  sorter  break  it  to  him  to-day,  knowin' 
he  would  realise  right  off  what  kind  o'  shape 
it  would  land  'em  all  in.  But  he  took  it 
pretty  good.  I  knowed  he  would,  too.  Ju 
thought  he'd  take  on  about  it.  She's  right 
off  the  mark  sometimes,  in  the  way  she  sizes 
up  her  man." 

175 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Uncle  Ed  was  flicking  a  willow-switch 
absently,  his  eye  on  the  wheat-fields. 

"My  crop's  gone,  too,"  he  said,  "but  then 
it  don't  matter  so  much  for  me,  'cause  I've 
got  a  fair  bit  o'  money  laid  by.  Howso, 
these  things  raise  the  fightin'  blood  in  a  man, 
and  that  ain't  a  bad  thing  to  happen.  If 
everythin'  went  slick  our  muscle'd  get  soft, 
and  our  blood  run  sorter  sickenin'  easy. 
Afore  that  happens  to  me  I  want  to  be  laid 
aside,  and  I  guess  Rob  McLane's  built  some 
the  same  way." 

"I've  been  here  nearly  two  years,  and  this 
is  the  first  big  trouble  that  has  come,"  said 
Ena.  She  spoke  quietly,  retaining  her  hold 
on  Uncle  Ed's  arm.  "I  wonder  what  my 
Uncle  Hugo  would  say  to  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Or  any  of  them.  There's  someone  else 
besides  Uncle  Hugo." 

"There's  your  Aunt  Esther,  your  father's 
sister.  Ain't  you  never  seen  her?" 

"No." 

176 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"She  never  quarrelled  with  your  father 
same's  she  did  with  your  Uncle  Hugo,  but 
she  lived  way  off  in  Europe  for  years  and 
years,  and  I  guess  that's  why  you  ain't  never 
seen  her.  Seems  to  me,  though,  that  I 
heard  she  was  back  in  Californy  awhile 
since.  She's  an  old  maid,  and  a  regular 
crank  by  all  accounts.  Had  lots  o'  money 
left  to  her  when  she  was  young,  and  I  guess 
she  suspected  all  the  young  fellers  that  come 
around  her  wanted  to  fill  their  pockets  'stead 
o'  their  hearts.  Maybe  she  was  right,  for 
I've  heard  she  warn't  at  all  a  lovable  woman, 
and  had  no  trick  o'  forgivin'  once  she's  fallen 
out  with  a  person.' 

"Why  did  she  quarrel  with  Uncle  Hugo?" 

"Land  knows.  She  had  the  old  home- 
stead left  to  her,  so  maybe  'twas  money  mat- 
ters. Likely  enough,  I  should  say."  Uncle 
Ed  smiled  as  he  walked  off. 

Ena  went  into  the  house  with  a  slower 
step,  peeping  into  the  sick-room  before  she 
went  out  to  the  kitchen.  Robert  McLane 
177 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

was  lying  quiet,  and  he  smiled  at  her  as  she 
smoothed  the  quilt. 

"You're  gettin'  real  womanish  ways  with 
you,  girl.  Don't  you  fuss  none  over  me. 
I'm  lyin'  nice  and  comfortable,  and  if  ma 
should  ask  any  about  me  tell  her  I'm  just 
tryin'  to  get  a  wink  o'  sleep  afore  dinner- 
time comes  along.  Don't  you  let  on,  least- 
ways for  an  hour  or  so,  that  I'm  tryin'  to 
do  anythin'  else." 


178 


CHAPTER  XII 

ENA  sat  up  in  the  garret,  writing-pad 
and  pencil  on  her  knee.  Through  the 
open  window  came  the  soft  sound  of  sum- 
mer rain,  with  now  and  then  the  rattle  of 
buggy-wheels  returning  from  Saturday 
market. 

Throughout  the  long  afternoon  she  had 
sat  motionless,  intent  only  on  the  matter  in 
hand,  which  at  last  was  finished.  She  folded 
her  letter  across  and  across  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  but  finally  straightened  it  out  again 
to  give  a  last  and  critical  reading,  her  brow 
furrowed  deeply  with  indecision.  It  began 
somewhat  abruptly: 

"AUNT  ESTHER, 

"I  cannot  put  'dear'  in  front  of  your 

name  because  I  have  never  seen  you,  and  I 

think  it  is  owing  to  some  trouble  in  the 

family  which  happened  a  long  time  ago. 

179 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Uncle  Ed  Van  Orme  says  you  are  peculiar, 
and  perhaps  you  may  not  like  to  receive  this 
letter,  but  this  is  what  I  want  to  tell  you. 
"I  came  to  this  McLane  house  nearly  two 
years  ago,  and  I  have  been  very  happy  until 
now.  This  summer  Uncle  Rob  has  been  ill 
with  typhoid,  and  the  wheat-crop  has  failed, 
so  they  are  going  to  be  very  poor  for  quite 
awhile.  Ross  will  not  be  able  to  go  to  school 
again  this  September,  and  I  think  it  will 
break  his  heart.  If  I  leave  here  it  will  be 
less  expense  to  them,  and  there  won't  be  any- 
thing particular  this  coming  winter  that  I 
can  do.  I  wish  you  would  help  me  about 
it  all.  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  for  more 
than  a  week,  but  I  cannot  tell  anyone  here. 
I  hope  you  will  not  be  angry  with  this  let- 
ter, for  I  am  writing  from  a  sense  of  Justice. 
I  do  not  think  Uncle  Hugo  just  understands 
how  things  are,  and  I  have  not  had  a  letter 
from  him  for  nearly  four  months.  I  want 
you  to  write  quickly,  please. 
"From  your  niece, 

"ENA  MARGARET  CHASE." 

The  word  "justice"  had  originally  been 
180 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

written  with  a  small  "j,"  but  Ena  had 
crossed  this  out,  and  finally  substituted  the 
capital  letter.  The  phrase  was  one  of  Aunt 
Loosher's  favourites,  and  Ena  felt  it  looked 
well  on  paper,  and  would  probably  impress 
Aunt  Esther. 

A  day  or  two  before,  when  bewildered  as 
to  the  composition  of  the  letter,  Ena  had 
appealed  indirectly  to  Mrs.  McLane. 

"What  would  you  do,  Aunt  June,  if  you 
wanted  to  write  to  someone  about  a  matter, 
and  you  were  not  quite  sure  how  they  would 
like  it?" 

"I  should  put  down  real  plain  what  was 
in  my  head,"  Mrs.  McLane  had  answered 
decisively;  "no  frills,  and  no  fussin'.  I  don't 
never  take  time  to  walk  round  a  thing  I 
can  get  to  straight." 

Ena  felt  there  was  worth  in  the  sugges- 
tion, and  it  had  ruled  the  spirit  of  her  let- 
ter accordingly.  Now  the  difficulty  was 
over,  and  she  sighed  again  with  satisfaction 
as  she  tucked  the  envelope  under  her  pil- 
181 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

low  to  await  the  first  chance  of  mailing. 

Robert  McLane  was  about  again  now;  a 
very  shadowy  sort  of  man  as  yet,  but  with 
gradually  increasing  strength.  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  the  family  that  silence  was 
maintained  on  the  subject  of  the  wheat;  even 
Mrs.  McLane  seemed  to  have  found  a 
private  reason  for  not  descanting  on  it. 
Dick  and  Ross  went  about  with  the  shadow 
lifted  from  their  faces,  but  Ena's  manner 
remained  a  little  nervous. 

Nothing  was  said  between  her  and  Ross  on 
the  subject  of  school,  the  impossibility  of  it 
being  too  well  understood  to  need  mention. 
Ena  read  the  date  of  opening  for  the  au- 
tumn term  with  a  sigh,  but  Ross  main- 
tained a  composure  so  complete  that  it  was 
almost  puzzling. 

The  letter  had  been  mailed  two  days  after 
writing,  and  Ena  counted  the  time  before 
an  answer  could  arrive.  She  had  been 
obliged  to  send  it  under  cover  to  her  Uncle 
Hugo  for  forwarding.  If  Aunt  Esther  was 
183 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

really  back  in  her  old  California  home,  there 
need  be  very  little  delay  about  an  answer  be- 
ing received. 

However,  the  days  crept  on,  and  no  sign 
came.  Ena  began  to  lose  heart,  and  wonder 
what  step  to  take  next.  Mrs.  McLane 
noticed  a  change  in  her  manner,  and  com- 
mented on  it  without  reserve. 

"You've  lost  heart  a  bit  because  a  stroke 
of  bad  luck  has  caught  us  clear  in  the  back, 
but  it  ain't  nothin'  but  foolishness  to  worry. 
You  surely  ought  to  ha'  shook  down  to  our 
ways  enough  to  know  that  if  we're  beat 
down  one  time  we'll  bob  up  another." 

Ena  nodded,  but  went  on  washing  the 
dishes  in  silence. 

"If  you're  poor  all  the  time  you  don't 
never  know  what  you  miss,"  continued  Mrs. 
McLane.  "The  people  I'm  real  sorry  for 
is  them  that  has  had,  and  ain't  got  it  any 
more.  The  only  way  for  them  to  do  is  to 
sorter  chuckle  'cause  they've  had  a  nip  o' 
what  the  others  ain't.  When  you're  put  to 
183 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

bad  enough  you've  got  to  look  out  for  some- 
thin'  that's  soothin'  to  the  feelin's." 

It  was  two  days  after  this  in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon  that  an  astounding  thing 
happened  at  the  farm.  Mrs.  McLane  and 
Ena  were  taking  in  the  morning's  wash, 
which  was  always  hung  in  front  of  the  house 
to  be  out  of  the  way,  when  Marthy  Swiggs' 
buggy  came  along,  Marthy  herself  driving. 
The  team  moved  at  a  walking  pace,  and  on 
the  front  seat  by  Marthy's  side  sat  a 
resplendent  sort  of  person  who  was  deliber- 
ately surveying  the  house  as  she  approached. 
Mrs.  McLane  saw  the  strange  sight  first, 
and  dropped  an  armful  of  linen  on  the 
grass. 

"For  the  land's  sake!  here's  someone 
dressed  so  fine  that  it  makes  Marthy  look 
sicker'n  a  hen  with  the  pip.  They're  drivin' 
up  here  for  sure." 

Ena  turned  to  look.  Something  in  the 
face  of  the  stranger  seemed  familiar  to  her, 
and  with  a  cry  she  ran  forward,  stopping 
184 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

the  buggy  just  as  it  was  turning  into  the 
yard. 

''Are  you  Aunt  Esther?" 

"I  guess  it  is,"  said  Marthy  excitedly,  be- 
fore anyone  else  had  time  to  speak.  "I 
found  her  in  Creston,  wonderin'  how  she'd 
ever  get  here.  This  is  the  McLane  place, 
ma'am,  and  here's  Ena.  Glad  to  ha' 
helped  you  some." 

Aunt  Esther  Chase  was  deposited  on  the 
grass  somewhat  abruptly,  and  stood  leaning 
on  her  thick  walking-stick,  looking  at  Ena. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  months  the  girl 
became  conscious  of  the  faded  calico  dress 
she  wore,  and  she  made  a  nervous  movement 
backwards  towards  Mrs.  McLane — the  lat- 
ter having  taken  a  position  on  the  porch 
steps  in  order  to  get  her  regular  breathing 
powers  restored. 

"Stop    a    minute!"     The    walking-stick 

was    waved    imperiously    as    Ena    stepped 

'back.     "I'm  your  Aunt  Esther  Chase,  as 

you  seem  to  have  guessed,  and  I've  come  to 

185 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

find  out  things  for  myself.     Is  this  the  place 
you've  been  living  in  for  the  last  two  years?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Who  is  that  person  sitting  on  the  steps?" 

"Aunt  June."  Ena  moved  to  include 
Mrs.  McLane  in  the  conversation,  and  the 
latter  came  forward  hospitably,  her  equa- 
nimity somewhat  restored. 

"If  you're  part  o'  Ena's  folks,  I'm  real 
glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  moving  the 
clothes-pins  from  one  hand  to  the  other  in 
order  to  give  extra  greeting.  "Come  and 
sit  down  in  the  porch  rocker  a  minute  while 
I  finish  takin'  in  the  wash.  Marthy's 
dropped  your  satchel  on  the  grass  there,  and 
I'll  have  the  twins  take  it  up  to  Ena's  bed- 
room. I  reckon  you've  got  sorter  lonesome 
to  see  her,  and  come  unexpected.  It  ain't  a 
bad  way  at  all — saves  quite  a  lot  o'  f ussin' 
and  fixin'  up." 

Aunt  Esther  walked  over  to  the  porch,  a 
slight  limp  becoming  apparent  the  moment 
she  moved. 

186 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Ha'  you  got  trouble  with  your  limbs, 
too?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  McLane,  feeling  that 
sympathies  in  common  might  be  established 
at  once.  "It's  wonderful  how  stiffness  does 
take  the  j'ints  wrhen  you  get  on  a  bit  in 
years." 

"I  suffered  a  slight  strain  years  ago,  while 
mountain-climbing,"  explained  Aunt  Esther 
in  frozen  accents,  noting  that  Ena  had  dis- 
appeared with  the  suit-case. 

"And  you  ain't  got  over  it,  seemin'ly. 
People  meet  all  sorts  o'  things  when  they 
travel.  I  presume  you're  home  for  good 
now?" 

"Possibly." 

"And  took  to  findin'  your  relations. 
Just  the  same,  I  ain't  heard  Ena  speak  none 
about  you." 

"Ena  has  never  seen  me.  I  was  abroad 
at  the  time  she  was  orphaned,  and  I  under- 
stood my  brother  Hugo  had  taken  charge 
of  her." 

Mrs.  McLane  sniffed  audibly. 
187 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Soon  got  tired  o'  his  job,  I  reckon. 
The  girl  came  here  somethin'  approachin' 
two  year  ago,  sayin'  her  uncle  thought  it'd 
be  sorter  healthier  for  her  to  be  brought  up 
on  a  farm.  I  scented  from  his  letter  how 
things  was.  The  child  was  welcome  enough 
here,  if  nobody  else  wanted  her." 

Aunt  Esther  relaxed.  Mrs.  McLane  had 
piled  up  her  basket  and  taken  the  opposite 
rocker. 

"I  wish  I  had  been  home  at  the  time,  but 
I  was  abroad,  and  in  a  sanatorium." 

"She's  a  real  good  girl,  and  ain't  never 
been  nothin'  less  to  us  than  our  own,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  McLane.  "I  guess  there'd  be 
a  sight  o'  opposition  to  get  through  if  there 
was  any  notion  o'  takin'  her  away  now. 
Her  ways  ain't  our  ways,  but  she's  got  a 
natural  politeness  about  her  that  makes  it 
seem  as  if  they  was.  I  wouldn't  let  her 
go  to  no  one  who  didn't  treat  her  good,  and 
make  her  feel  she  was  just  as  welcome  as 
188 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

could  be  to  whatever  they'd  got  and  no  de- 
pendent at  that." 

All  unconsciously  Mrs.  McLane  had 
touched  the  right  chord.  Her  simple  man- 
ner of  getting  down  to  the  raw  in  life  won 
its  way  unerringly  now.  With  the  barrier 
of  caste  broken  down,  the  two  stood  revealed 
for  what  they  were — women  of  widely  dif- 
ferent breeding,  but  similar  heart.  Aunt 
Esther  put  out  her  hand  in  a  way  that  was 
very  different  from  the  limp  extension  of 
fingers  a  few  minutes  before. 

"I'll  remember  that,"  she  said.  "Now,  if 
it  is  convenient  for  me  to  stay  two  or  three 
days " 

"Sure!"  Mrs.  McLane  rose  alertly. 
"I'm  forgettin'  all  about  you,  in  talkin' 
about  Ena.  I  guess  she's  took  up  your 
satchel,  so,  if  you  can  climb  the  stairs  here 
you'll  find  her  room,  and  I'll  go  right  to 
makin'  a  mess  o'  fried-cakes  for  supper." 

So  Aunt  Esther  went  slowly  up  the  stairs, 
189 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

marvelling  greatly  at  all  she  saw  on  the  way. 
Ena  was  smoothing  out  the  patchwork  quilt 
in  her  bedroom  with  fingers  that  trembled 
ever  so  little.  Aunt  Esther  watched  her  for 
a  few  moments  in  silence,  rapping  her  stick 
at  intervals  on  the  floor.  Then  an  unwonted 
softness  came  over  her  face.  She  held  out 
her  hand. 

"I'm  glad  you  wrote,"  she  said.     "Don't 
cry.     I  understand  it  all." 


190 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  presence  of  Aunt  Esther  Chase  at 
the  farm  provided  a  sense  of  novelty 
not  easily  to  be  described.  At  first  a  gen- 
eral nervousness  prevailed  with  all  but  Mrs. 
McLane,  but  this  wore  off.  Aunt  Esther 
had  evidently  come  prepared  to  take  things 
as  she  found  them;  and  if  they  were  not 
what  she  had  anticipated  she  did  not  say 
so. 

Work  went  on  just  as  usual  during  the 
next  two  days.  There  was  far  too  much  to 
do  to  be  able  to  loiter,  even  for  an  unusual 
guest.  Ena  was  the  only  one  who  had  liberty 
accorded  her,  and,  rocking  in  the  sunshine  on 
the  front  porch,  she  gave  her  aunt  the  history 
of  the  past  two  years. 

Aunt  Esther  sat  still  and  said  little,  but 
occasionally  she  tapped  the  floor  with  her 
stick.  Ena  learned  before  long  that  this 
191 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

was  a  sign  to  be  regarded,  and  fell  to 
studying  it  accordingly.  Thus  she  was 
not  disappointed  at  the  apparent  tac- 
iturnity with  which  her  narrative  was  re- 
ceived. 

"I  never  realised  there  was  definite 
trouble  until  this  summer,"  Ena  finished. 
"The  day  Uncle  Ed  came  over  I  knew  there 
would  be  lots  to  think  about.  But  things 
are  soon  arranged  in  this  house.  Ross  is 
to  go  into  the  woods  next  winter  with  his 
father  and  Dick,  so  that  extra  money  can 
be  made.  Mrs.  McLane  is  going  to  manage 
the  farm  with  the  twins." 

"Is  it  Ross  who  meant  to  go  to  school 
this  term?" 

"Yes."  Ena  leaned  her  chin  on  her  hand 
and  stopped  rocking.  "He  wants  to  be  edu- 
cated, and  this  is  the  second  year  things 
have  happened  to  prevent." 

"That  won't  hurt  him,  if  he  is  the  right 
sort  of  boy,"  said  Aunt  Esther  grimly.  "It 
seems  to  me  things  have  been  planned  very 
192 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

sensibly,  considering  the  family  circum- 
stances." 

Ena  said  nothing.  An  oppression  which 
had  been  lightened  for  the  last  two  days  re- 
turned upon  her.  She  realised  that  she  had 
vaguely  suspected  Aunt  Esther  of  coming 
as  a  sort  of  family  deliverer.  It  seemed 
that  this  was  not  to  be. 

"I  should  like  to  meet  Ed  Van  Orme," 
said  Aunt  Esther  suddenly.  "Where  doesi 
he  live?" 

Ena  roused  herself.  "He  and  Aunt 
Loosher  are  coming  over  this  afternoon  to 
see  you.  They  heard  of  your  being  here 
yesterday.  Marthy  Swiggs  told  them. 
She  has  been  dreadfully  excited  ever  since 
you  arrived" ;  and  Ena  smiled. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  McLane  appeared 
from  the  sitting-room,  a  faded  gingham 
wrapper  hanging  over  her  arms.  She 
looked  at  Aunt  Esther's  immaculate  grey 
gown. 

"It  torments  me  terrible  to  see  you  wearin' 
193 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

that  good  dress  in  the  house,"  she  said,  "and 
so  I  hunted  up  this  gingham,  so's  you  could 
put  it  on  and  save  the  others.  You  and  me 
ain't  so  awful  unlike  in  figure  but  what  you 
can  wear  it  fairly  comfortable.  If  it's  a  bit 
wide  in  the  waist,  just  lap  it  over,  and  pin 
it  at  the  back." 

Aunt  Esther  controlled  her  surprise 
gracefully. 

"Thank  you,  but  I  feel  very  comfortable 
as  I  am,  and  I  won't  trouble  you." 

"It  troubles  me  a  deal  more  to  see  a  good 
dress  sorter  goin'  to  waste,"  Mrs.  McLane 
said.  "If  only  you'd  ha'  thought  to  bring 
a  couple  o'  common  dresses  with  you!" 

Aunt  Esther  said  nothing,  and  looked  a 
little  nonplussed. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  ain't  got  no 
common  dresses?"  interrogated  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane, scenting  the  situation  with  her  usual 
acumen.  "Leastways,  nothin'  commoner 
than  what  you've  got  on?" 

"I  find  them  very  comfortable  and  serv- 
194. 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

iceable."  Aunt  Esther  smoothed  her  gown, 
settling  the  cuffs  apologetically.  "They 
wash,  you  know,"  she  added,  hoping  to  im- 
press Mrs.  McLane  favourably. 

"I  can  see  it,  but  I'd  never  feel  I  ought 
to  have  as  trim  a  dress  as  that  on  my  back, 
'cept  on  the  Fourth,  or  the  Sabbath,  or 
maybe  a  funeral.  I  thought  when  I  seen 
you  round  yest'day  afternoon  in  that  red 
dress  you  was  wearin'  that  it'd  make  as 
lovely  a  ball  o'  carpet-rags  as  ever  was 
sewed.  I  guess  you're  sorter  hankerin'  to 
get  it  worn  out,  anyway,"  suggested  Mrs. 
McLane  enviously. 

"Aunt  June  likes  your  rose  linen,"  ex- 
plained Ena,  on  the  edge  of  laughter. 
"We  sew  all  the  dresses  here  into  carpet-rags 
when  they  are  finished  with." 

"You're  not  goin'  to  tell  me  you  don't!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  McLane,  overpowered  by 
such  a  revelation,  and  looking  at  Aunt 
Esther  in  a  way  which  made  the  latter  feel 
mentally  unbalanced.  "It'd  be  the  most 
195 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

sinful  waste  I  ever  heard  tell  of,  considerin' 
what  you  wear." 

"You  possess  more  ideas  than  I,  evidently, 
and  probably  your  custom  is  a  good  one." 
Aunt  Esther  spoke  politely,  but  rapped  her 
stick  with  a  significance  not  to  be  dis- 
regarded. "Ena,  I  wish  you  would  bring 
me  my  work-bag." 

What  Aunt  Esther's  thoughts  were  as  she 
sat  sewing  for  the  remainder  of  the  morning 
could  not  be  told.  Her  eyes  were  bent  on 
her  work,  and  her  firmly-set  lips  quivered 
no  secrets.  Ena,  flying  from  one  task  to 
another  in  the  house,  occasionally  glanced 
towards  the  open  door  and  sighed.  She 
liked  Aunt  Esther  Chase,  but  found  her  as 
yet  a  little  inscrutable. 

"She's  ever  so  slightly  like  my  father," 
Ena  said  to  Mrs.  McLane,  when,  later  on,  a 
mutual  peeling  of  potatoes  invited  confi- 
dence. "That's  why  I  seemed  to  know  her 
as  she  sat  by  Marthy's  side." 

"She's  an  awful  odd  woman,  with  her 
196 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

mouth  shuttin'  down  on  everythin'  her  eyes 
takes  in,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "That  stick- 
rappin'  business  torments  me,  too;  but  I 
ain't  complainin'  serious,  'cause  her  heart  is 
good.  She  wants  to  do  the  right  thing." 

Ena  was  on  the  alert  that  afternoon,  and 
when  Uncle  Ed  and  Aunt  Loosher  drove 
up,  she  took  the  former  at  once  to  where 
Aunt  Esther  Chase  sat  sewing  under  the 
trees.  Then  she  left  the  two  together, 
divining  that  an  acquaintanceship  would  be 
more  easily  formed  if  no  third  person  were 
present. 

Meanwhile  Aunt  Loosher  had  made  her 
way  with  dignity  to  the  kitchen,  there  to  en- 
counter Mrs.  McLane.  The  latter  stopped 
a  moment  in  her  bread-kneading  to  note  that 
her  sister  wore  the  cherished  gown  of  black 
Henrietta  which  had  been  made  for  old  man 
Sorensen's  funeral. 

"It  ain't  no  good,  Loosher."  A  slight 
but  provoking  smile  broadened  on  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane's  lips  as  she  turned  to  her  kneading 
197 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

again.  "You  ain't  got  a  show  at  all  in  the 
matter  o'  dress,  if  so  be  you've  come  with 
the  notion  o'  keepin'  pace  with  Ena's  aunt, 
and  havin'  her  note  what  you  can  do  in  the 
way  o'  fashion.  Just  you  peep  through  the 
sittin'-room  window  and  see  that  red  dress 
she's  wearin'  for  common." 

Aunt  Loosher,  though  sorely  tempted, 
held  her  own. 

"I  ain't  come  with  nothin'  but  neigh- 
bourly feelin's,  Ju,  and  maybe  a  notion  that 
I'd  like  to  have  her  see  the  best  of  us. 
That's  only  natural,  I  guess." 

"She  sees  anything  she  wants  to  o'  my 
ways,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  sturdily;  "and  I 
ain't  made  no  apologies.  She's  like  Ena  in 
the  way  she  takes  things.  I  doubt  if  she's 
so  much  as  set  her  nose  inside  the  parlour, 
and  I  ain't  asked  her." 

Aunt  Loosher  unfolded  a  small  news- 
paper parcel. 

"I  brought  these  two  red  wool  mats  with 
me,  Ju,  thinkin'  you'd  sorter  like  to  have 
198 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

'em  on  the  parlour  table,  now  you've  got 
comp'ny.  They  smarten  up  the  look  of  a 
room  considerable,  and  if  you've  got  a  vase 
of  any  sort  to  put  on  'em— 

"I  ain't,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  shortly.  "I 
had  a  blue  one,  but  Jerry  and  Dan  broke  it, 
playin'  catapults,  more'n  a  year  ago.  I  guess 
you  hadn't  better  leave  them  mats,  Loosher. 
Likely  somethin'll  happen  to  'em,  and  then 
you'll  be  sorry." 

"Well,  if  she  don't  sit  in  the  parlour— 

"She  don't,"  said  Mrs.  McLane.  "She 
sits  on  the  porch,  or  under  the  trees,  same's 
she's  doin'  now." 

Aunt  Loosher  stepped  softly  into  the  sit- 
ting-room, taking  up  a  position  where  she 
could  see  and  not  be  seen.  When  the  bread 
was  in  the  oven,  Mrs.  McLane  followed  her. 
The  common  love  of  gossip,  which  smoothes 
down  so  many  of  the  little  jagged  places  in 
everyday  life,  brought  the  two  on  to  a  con- 
vivial footing  again. 

"She  wears  them  clothes  just  for  com- 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

mon,"  said  Mrs.  McLane,  relishing  her  visi- 
tor's surprise;  "and  when  I  took  her  a  'ging- 
ham wrapper  to  sorter  save  'em,  she  rapped 
her  stick.  I  notice  she  ain't  doin'  it  none  to 
Ed.  They're  gettin'  on  real  good  together, 
and  talkin'  fast  enough  to  beat  the  band. 
Seems  she  wanted  to  see  him,  though  what 
for  in  partic'lar  I  don't  know." 

"Maybe  to  get  better  acquainted  with  the 
fam'ly,"  said  Aunt  Loosher,  who  was  not 
ill  pleased  with  the  distinction  shown  her 
husband.  "I  won't  go  out  till  they  get 
through,  'cause  it'd  seem  interruptin'.  She 
looks  a  bit  of  a  crank,  too,  same  as  Ena's 
mother  always  said  she  was." 

"She  ain't  no  notion  that  her  brother 
Hugo's  ways  is  right,  though  she  don't  say 
nothin'  about  him  'cept  to  herself." 

"What  does  Ena  say  to  this  turn  o' 
things?" 

"Nothin'  whatever;  we  don't  none  of  us 
talk  till  we  know  what's  to  happen." 

Aunt  Lroosher  would  have  liked  to  ask 
200 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

more  questions,  but  did  not  dare.  A  right- 
eous contentment  filled  her  that  seeming 
justice  had  at  last  arrived  in  the  person  of 
Aunt  Esther  Chase,  and  she  sat  straighten- 
ing her  wristlets  with  an  expression  of  satis- 
faction, which  she  longed  to  put  into  words. 
"There  won't  be  none  of  us  but  what'll 
feel  sorter  flat  and  slimpsy  if  so  be  she  no- 
tions to  take  Ena  away  with  her,"  said  Mrs. 
McLane,  who  understood  her  sister  far  too 
well  not  to  know  what  was  passing  in  her 
mind.  "I  ain't  never  been  sorry  a  minute 
that  I  took  her  in,  so  no  one  can't  never 
wiggle  their  front  finger  at  me  same's  to 
say  I  warn't  in  the  right  after  all.  I  don't 
look  at  Rob  McLane  these  days,  nor  Ross 
neither.  There's  somethin'  dumb  about  'em 
both  that  makes  a  body  want  to  turn  away 
quick.  Here's  Ena,  now,  and  if  you  want  to 
meet  her  aunt  sorter  fashionable  and  be  real 
introduced,  you'll  have  to  get  Ena  to  do  it, 
'cause  I've  got  my  bread  to  look  after,  and 
can't  stop  for  no  hanky-panky." 
201 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

A  little  while  later  the  whole  party  were 
together  on  the  porch ;  Aunt  Loosher,  sitting 
stiffly  erect  in  her  black  Henrietta,  secretly 
amazed  that  so  elegant  and  unusual  a  person 
as  Aunt  Esther  Chase  should  persistently 
avoid  the  parlour.  Such  a  state  of  things 
did  not  seem  exactly  right,  and  Aunt 
Loosher  worried  a  little,  feeling  that  her 
attempts  to  impress  the  family  gentility  on 
the  stranger  had  been  in  vain. 

"It  ain't  a  bit  o'  use  dressin'  up  and  puttin' 
on  comp'ny  manners,  with  Ju  sittin'  there  so 
awful  home-like  in  her  calico  wrapper," 
Aunt  Loosher  decided  in  chagrin.  "Ju 
never  tried  to  make  no  appearance  in  front 
o'  strangers,  and  I  guess  she's  just  as  willin' 
as  not  that  Ena's  aunt  should  go  back 
thinkin'  that  we  ain't  got  a  good  black  dress 
'twixt  the  lot  of  us.  Seein'  how  things  are 
here,  I'm  glad  I  put  mine  on.  I  guess 
it's  'cause  she  sees  there's  someone  in  the 
fam'ly  knows  their  manners  that  she's  sorter 
picked  out  Ed  for  special  notice.  What 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

should  ha'  kep'  'em  talkin'  so  long  I  don't 
know,  but  I'll  hear  goin'  home  to-night.  She 
don't  speak  to  me  real  free-and-easy,  but  I 
guess  it's  'cause  she  sees  I'm  sorter  diff'rent 
to  the  others." 

Pleased  with  the  idea,  Aunt  Loosher  re- 
tired gracefully  from  general  conversation, 
and  fell  to  studying  fashions,  as  expressed 
in  the  gown  worn  by  the  city  visitor.  Aunt 
Esther  noticed  this  after  a  time,  and  rapped 
her  stick;  but  the  intimation  went  unre- 
garded. 

"Loosher 's  all  wropped  up  in  the  cut  o' 
your  gown,  thinkin',  maybe,  to  make  over 
her  own,"  said  Mrs.  McLane,  with  sly  satis- 
faction. "I  will  say,  Loosher,  your  sleeves 
don't  look  real  stylish  no  more.  Ain't  you 
got  a  bit  o'  the  material  left  over,  so's  you 
could  balloon  'em  up  some?" 

"They  don't  want  it,"  said  Aunt  Loosher, 
aggrieved  to  excess.  "You  know  they  don't, 
Ju,  and  I  can't  see  why  you  want  to  aggra- 
vate. It  ain't  no  use  goin'  to  meetin' 
203 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

reg'lar  if  it  don't  do  you  no  good  in  your 
daily  life." 

"Maybe  they  suit  you  as  well  just  as  they 
are,  you  bein'  so  thin,"  answered  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane,  usually  ready  to  hush  the  storm  she 
stirred.  "I  ain't  no  great  for  fussin'  over 
such  things,  anyway.  Your  back's  the 
thing,  not  what's  on  it." 

"All  of  us  don't  think  that  way,"  said 
Aunt  Loosher,  who  had  never  ceased  to  feel 
she  could  have  adorned  something  more  dis- 
tinguished than  calico.  "There  ain't  nothin' 
like  bein'  nice  appearin',  and  I  hold  with 
everyone  havin'  one  good  dress — made 
sorter  how  you  want  it,  'stead  o'  how  you 
have  to  have  it." 

The  little  passage-at-arms  had  not  been 
lost  on  Aunt  Esther,  who  now  turned  the 
conversation  adroitly.  Peace  was  kept  for 
the  remainder  of  the  visit,  and  by  the  time 
Aunt  Loosher  rose  to  go  she  had  been  made 
to  feel  her  efforts  in  the  way  of  presenting 
204 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

an  appearance  had  not  been  in  vain. 
Soothed  and  comforted,  she  gave  a  cordial  in- 
vitation to  her  own  home  as  she  stepped  into 
the  buggy. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  Aunt  Esther  said 
courteously. 

"I  ain't  as  great  as  some  folks  on  leave- 
takin's,"  said  Aunt  Loosher,  "  'cause  you 
never  know  what  wind'll  blow  you  together 
again.  Just  the  same,  if  you  don't  give  a 
handshake  to  whoever's  goin',  it  leaves  you 
with  a  sorter  feelin'  o'  ravelled  edges." 

A  thin  hand  was  extended  with  the  words, 
and  Aunt  Esther  responded.  Uncle  Ed 
drew  up  the  reins. 

''I've  always  had  a  sorter  curious  feelin' 
about  the  real  West,"  continued  Aunt 
Loosher.  "If  ever  I  could  rely  on  my 
knees- 
Here  the  buggy  moved  off — a  little 
hastily,  it  seemed — and  the  rest  of  the  re- 
mark was  lost. 

205 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

"Maybe  I  don't  ought  to  get  Loosher  so 
riled,"  said  Mrs.  McLane  repentantly,  giv- 
ing a  farewell  wave  of  extra  vigour.  "Seems 
as  if  I  can't  help  it,  though,  when  she's 
around,  and  I  see  so  plain  all  the  time  just 
where  I  can  aggravate  her.  If  only  she 
hid  up  her  notions  more  I  shouldn't  be  so 
awful  tempted." 

"Your  sister  Lucia  means  well,"  said 
Aunt  Esther,  feeling  a  platitude  was  the 
only  thing  adequate  to  the  occasion.  "It 
was  friendly  of  her  to  call.  She  married  a 
good,  kindly  man,  which  is  more  than  some 
women  have  the  sense  to  do." 

"Uncle  Ed  is  going  home  by  the  Creston 
road,"  said  Ena,  watching  the  retreating 
buggy  curiously,  as  Mrs.  McLane  went  into 
the  house.  "It's  the  longest  way,  and  yet 
they  were  rather  late  in  starting." 

Aunt  Esther  stooped  for  her  work-bag 
and  unrolled  a  strip  of  embroidery.  "He 
is  obliging  me  over  a  matter,"  she  said 
206 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

quietly,  "and  he  has  promised  not  to  delay. 
By  the  way,  Ena,  if  you  have  the  oppor- 
tunity to  pack  your  large  trunk  to-morrow, 
do  so.  It's  the  right  thing  now  for  us  both 
to  pick  up  and  be  going!" 


207 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ROSS  sat  with  his  hands  round  his 
knees  in  the  sunshine,  watching  the 
waggon  wind  slowly  down  from  the  ridge 
to  the  road.  Dick  and  the  twins  were  in  it, 
driving  home  from  the  fields  to  the  noon- 
day meal.  Ross,  left  behind,  watched  them 
half  absently  till  they  turned  in  amongst 
the  trees  near  the  house;  then  his  head 
dropped  down  on  his  folded  arms,  and  he 
sat  silently,  quite  forgetful  of  the  dinner- 
pail  at  his  side. 

This  was  Ena's  last  day  at  the  farm.  The 
seven  o'clock  train  that  left  Creston  the  fol- 
lowing morning  would  bear  away  with  it  the 
august  form  of  Aunt  Esther  Chase,  and  the 
slim  girl  she  had  stolen  from  the  Wisconsin 
farm.  For  a  theft  it  was,  in  the  eyes  of 
Ross,  and  between  resentment  and  dismay 
the  last  few  days  had  been  the  most  forlorn 
208 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

of  all  his  life.  It  was  not  his  custom  to 
meet  any  situation  with  words,  so  that  un- 
toward events  never  had  the  chance  of  be- 
ing mitigated  by  the  joy  of  discussion.  In 
this  way  he  was  like  his  father,  who  had  lived 
in  a  whirlwind  of  words  ever  since  his  mar- 
riage, and  still  remained  outwardly  impas- 
sive. 

Ena  had  become  so  much  a  part  of  his  life 
by  now  that  it  was  impossible  to  imagine  the 
daily  routine  going  on  without  her.  Ross 
felt  as  lost  as  a  child  in  the  dark  when  he 
tried  to  do  so,  and  involuntarily  his  mind 
went  back  to  the  first  evening  of  her  ar- 
rival, when  he  had  been  compelled  to  retire 
to  the  woodshed  in  order  to  recover  from  the 
excitement  her  coming  had  brought.  For 
from  the  first  she  had  been  something 
familiar  as  well  as  unusual  to  him — the 
realisation  of  a  dream  come  to  him  afore- 
times  from  the  land  of  his  shadowy  ambi- 
tions. It  seemed  hard  that  her  guiding 
hand  must  fall  from  his  clasp  now. 
209 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

The  hot  sun  beat  on  the  boy's  neck,  but 
he  kept  his  face  hidden  on  his  knee  long 
after  the  grinding  of  the  waggon- wheels  had 
ceased.  Thus  he  did  not  see  a  slender  figure 
running  across  the  fields  towards  him  with 
feet  that  seemed  winged,  and  the  first  inti- 
mation of  Ena's  presence  was  Ena  herself 
standing  before  him. 

"Ross!"  She  threw  herself  down  by  his 
side,  gasping  a  little  for  breath.  "I 
couldn't  wait  a  minute  to  tell  you.  Aunt 
Esther  and  Uncle  Ed  have  been  planning 
about  you,  and  you  are  to  begin  school  this 
term,  after  all." 

Ena  understood  too  well  to  expect  ejacu- 
lations, but  she  leaned  a  little  closer  at  the 
look  in  Ross's  eyes.  "Everything  is  ar- 
ranged," she  continued  more  quietly.  "Mr. 
Wrightson  wants  a  boy  to  do  chores  on  his 
farm  morning  and  evening,  with  the  whole 
day  left  free  for  school,  and  Uncle  Ed  has 
fixed  things  so  that  you  go.  Aunt  Esther 
and  your  mother  talked  about  it  in  the  par- 
210 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

lour  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
when  they  came  out  Aunt  June  said  I  might 
come  up  and  tell  you  there  wouldn't  be  the 
need  for  you  to  go  to  the  woods  the  same  as 
had  been  planned  for.  I  noticed  Aunt 
Esther  was  rapping  her  stick  all  the  time  in 
the  parlour." 

Boy  and  girl  laughed  together,  and  the 
feeling  of  tension  melted. 

"Only  think  it  has  come  true  at  last,  after 
all  our  plans,"  Ena  said  eagerly.  "You 
must  write  me  all  about  your  high-school 
work." 

Remembrance  came  back  to  Ross  sud- 
denly, and  his  shoulders  sunk.  "But  you're 
going,"  he  said  dully.  "I'll  be  alone." 

"You  won't."  Ena  slipped  her  brown 
fingers  into  his  large,  work-worn  hands.  "I 
shall  think  of  you  in  some  way  every  day — 
and  thought  is  everything.  You  would 
know  that  if  you  had  ever  loved  anyone  and 
lost  them  awhile."  Her  eyes  shadowed  a  mo- 
ment at  remembrances  of  the  parents  of 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

whom  she  never  spoke.  "You  never  need 
feel  alone,"  she  added  softly.  "I  shall  know 
exactly  what  your  life  is,  and  that  will  make 
it  easier  for  you  to  hear  me  thinking  about 

you." 

Ross  sat  silent.  As  far  as  comfort  could 
be  given  she  had  given  it.  The  old  courage 
began  to  throb  again  at  his  heart  uncer- 
tainly; the  resolution  to  achieve  lightened 
his  eyes. 

"That's  right."  Ena  smiled  up  at  him 
with  rare  sweetness.  "It's  the  only  way, 
you  know!  We  shall  have  those  talks  up  in 
the  garret  to  remember.  It  seems  so 
good  to  feel  that  the  time  has  come  to 
begin." 

She  rose,  tying  back  the  cloud  of  curls 
that  had  been  loosened  in  running.  All  her 
active,  practical  nature  was  alert  again. 
Ross  caught  the  flame  of  it,  as  he  had  often 
done  before. 

"I  forgot  my  dinner,  too."  Ena  laughed, 
pointing  to  the  unopened  pail.  "Let's  share 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

up  now,  and  then  I  must  go  back.  What 
a  good  world  it  is,  Ross!" 

So  she  changed  the  spirit  of  his  dream, 
and  they  sat  in  the  sunshine  together,  talk- 
ing of  the  wonderful  things  that  had  hap- 
pened. And  after  she  had  gone — turning 
to  wave  back  at  him  once  or  twice — he  set 
to  work,  with  shoulders  squared  to  resolu- 
tion. Since  she  asked  courage  sooner  than 
repining,  it  was  only  loyal  in  him  to  give  it! 
Absent  or  present,  there  must  be  no  disap- 
pointing her! 

When  Ena  got  back  to  the  kitchen,  she 
found  Mrs.  McLane  busy  surveying  two 
somewhat  fanciful-looking  bottles  standing 
on  the  table. 

"They're  meant  for  vases,"  she  said  in  ex- 
planation; "and  Prue  Perkins  sent  'em  for 
you.  She's  stuffed  'em  alternate  with  red 
calico  and  salt,  to  make  'em  look  real  bright 
and  pretty.  It  seems  an  awful  waste  o' 
salt,  and  I  don't  know  if  it's  what  your 
Aunt  Esther'd  think  just  artistic,"  pondered 
213 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Mrs.  McLane;  "but  Pine  sent  'em  with  a 
good  heart,  and  so  I  guess  you'd  better  stuff 
'em  in  your  trunk." 

Ena  clasped  the  two  bottles,  touched  more 
nearly  to  tears  than  laughter. 

"Mandy  brought  'em,  and  was  real  sorry 
not  to  say  good-bye,  but  I  told  her  it  was 
just  as  well.  I  ain't  no  great  on  makin'  a 
specialty  o'  the  lonesome  things  that  comes 
up  in  a  body's  life.  I'll  say,  though,  that 
you've  made  a  sight  o'  friends  since 
you've  been  here,  and  that's  not  a  clear  two 
year  yet.  It's  your  mother's  way  you've 
got.  I  guess  you  caught  her  smiles  for 
good." 

Mrs.  McLane  was  pushing  an  extra  large 
stick  of  wood  in  the  stove. 

"I'm  goin'  to  make  you  a  mess  o'  fried 
cakes  to  take  on  the  journey,"  she  said,  going 
from  one  subject  to  another,  with  the  un- 
conscious irrelevance  which  annoyed  her 
family  and  amused  strangers.  "You  won't 
find  the  vittles  on  the  train  none  too  good 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

and  wholesome — just  a  dab  o'  this  and  a 
dab  o'  that,  and  nothin'  to  fill  up  your 
stomach  good  and  plenty.  I  ain't  never 
tried  it,  o'  course,  but  I've  heerd  about  it 
more'n  once,  and  I  sense  from  what  your 
Aunt  Esther  allows  that  there  ain't  no  exag- 
gerations. Just  the  same,  when  I  offered  to 
put  a  couple  o'  baskets  o'  good  wholesome 
vittles — some  of  it  my  best  pickled  pork — 
she  wouldn't  hear  to  it.  How  d'you  think 
you'll  get  on  with  her  notional  ways,  Ena?" 

Mrs.  McLane  paused  in  interest.  Ena 
laughed. 

"You  said  her  heart  was  good,  Aunt 
June." 

"So  it  is,"  admitted  Mrs.  McLane.  "I'm 
glad  you  sense  that  that's  the  chief  thing. 
Just  so  long  as  you  can  dive  down  and  not 
find  meanness  in  a  body,  you  can  shape  'em 
up  somehow  to  suit  yourself.  You'll  do 
more  shapin'  than  bein'  shaped,  anyway," 
finished  Mrs.  McLane,  with  penetration. 
"See  how  you  can  coax  round  Ross,  and  him 
215 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

so  set  in  his  ways  from  the  cradle  up.  I'll 
bet  he  thought  this  goin'  to  school  was  some 
o'  your  fixin'.  Didn't  he  take  it  real  quiet?" 

Ena  nodded  assent. 

"Like  his  father,"  commented  Mrs.  Mc- 
Lane.  "Howso,  I  know  what  it  means  to  the 
boy,  and  I'm  real  glad.  He  always  was 
mortal  peculiar  and  sorter  sombre  for  a 
young  one.  Never  stood  on  his  head 
enough;  but  I've  heard  tell  more'n  once  o' 
people  who  took  their  age  afore  their  youth, 
and  so  I  ain't  never  worried  none.  I  read 
once  that  it  was  a  good  way  to  do,  for  people 
who'd  got  the  'get-there'  feelin'  in  'em,  and 
maybe  that's  so.  Anyway,  I  ain't  got  no 
fears  for  Ross,  since  things  has  just  hap- 
pened to  slide  round  so's  to  give  him  a  hold." 

Filled  with  this  cheerful  philosophy  of 
chance,  Mrs.  McLane  finished  the  fried 
cakes,  and  Ena  went  upstairs  smiling  a  little. 
She  had  not  ventured  to  point  to  anything 
beyond  what  Mrs.  McLane  saw,  knowing 
disillusion  to  be  impossible. 
216 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

In  spite  of  Mrs.  McLane's  persistent  air 
of  nonchalance,  there  was  something  depress- 
ing in  the  atmosphere  of  the  farmhouse  that 
evening.  Ross  came  home  for  supper,  but 
vanished  again  directly  afterwards,  and 
when  Ena  went  up  to  bed  the  garret  room 
was  still  empty.  She  sat  down  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  strange  little  chamber  of 
dreams,  thinking  over  the  past,  and  wonder- 
ing about  the  future;  wishing,  with  all  the 
impatience  of  fifteen,  that  the  veil  could  be 
lifted  a  little. 

Robert  McLane  had  put  his  hand  tremu- 
lously on  Ena's  curls  in  saying  good-night, 
and  evidently  he  wished  that  to  mean  fare- 
well, for  he  did  not  appear  the  next  morn- 
ing. Aunt  Esther,  in  the  gown  of  rose 
linen  which  presented  such  perpetual  pos- 
sibilities to  Mrs.  McLane,  descended  be- 
times, and  seemed  active  everywhere. 

"Come  to  see  if  I  ain't  got  a  notion  o' 
tuckin'  a  basket  o'  vittles  in  somewhere  at 
the  last  moment,"   pronounced   Mrs.   Mc- 
217 


±HE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANk 

Lane.  "Don't  you  tell  her  about  them  fried 
cakes,  Ena,  till  you're  well  on  the  way,  and 
then  I'll  warrant  she'll  be  glad  enough  I  had 
the  contrariness  to  put  'em  in.  I'm  bound 
to  say  that  if  she  and  me  lived  together 
there'd  be  a  pernickety  time  tryin'  to  keep 
one  ahead  o'  the  other." 

Greatly  to  Ena's  surprise,  it  was  Mrs. 
McLane  who  broke  down  when  the  moment 
for  parting  came.  Dick  and  the  twins  had 
kissed  good-bye  stoically,  but  Mrs.  McLane 
brought  the  corner  of  her  gingham  apron 
to  her  eye. 

"I've  been  so  busy  fortifyin'  everyone  else 
that  I  ain't  had  no  time  to  brace  up  my- 
self," she  explained  apologetically.  "Land 
sakes,  Ena!  don't  you  start  cryin'  too,  but 
get  in  the  buggy,  'cause  Ross  is  waitin'.  I 
shall  be  all  right  just  when  the  first  thing 
takes  my  'tention  off." 

The  prophecy  proved  almost  instant  in  its 
fulfilment,  for,  as  Ena  stepped  rather 
falteringly  into  the  buggy,  and  Aunt  Esther 
218 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

Chase  moved  to  give  her  room,  the  glint  of 
the  latter's  gown  caught  Mrs.  McLane's 
eye,  and  reminded  her  of  a  forgotten  injunc- 
tion. She  ran  forward  in  a  hurry. 

"You  be  sure  to  send  me  that  red  dress 
when  your  aunt's  clear  got  through  with  it," 
she  whispered  anxiously, '  as  Ena  bent  her 
head.  "I'll  be  awful  disappointed  if  you  for- 
get, Ena.  It'll  make  just  a  lovely  stripe  in 
a  rag-carpet." 

***** 

The  drive  to  Creston  was  a  cheerful  one, 
in  spite  of  the  circumstances.  Aunt  Esther 
seemed  less  contemplative  than  usual,  and 
talked  freely.  Thus,  at  the  last  moment, 
she  opened  up  a  new  side  of  her  character 
to  Ross. 

Just  a  mile  before  Creston  was  reached 
they  passed  the  Wrightson  farm.  Ena 
made  Ross  drive  slowly,  so  that  she  could 
take  in  the  details  of  the  place,  which  she 
had  never  noticed  particularly  before;  and 
Aunt  Esther  put  on  her  eyeglasses  with  an 
819 


THE  MOTTO  OF  MRS.  McLANE 

air  of  criticism  which  gradually  melted  to 
approbation.  Much  too  wise  to  administer 
any  little  homily  to  Ross  concerning  his 
future,  she  refrained  from  comment  of  any 
sort,  and  sat  in  silence  till  the  "depot"  was 
reached. 

The  train  was  already  at  the  platform. 
Ross  looked  at  it  with  a  sense  of  sudden 
shock,  the  desolation  of  the  last  moment  full 
upon  him.  Deliberately  he  turned  away, 
throwing  an  arm  round  old  Libby's  neck. 
His  heart  was  beating  quickly,  with  a 
strange,  new  feeling  he  did  not  understand, 
and,  like  one  in  a  dream,  he  turned,  to  find 
Ena  at  his  side.  She  drew  down  his  head 
and  kissed  him  on  the  lips. 

"Good-bye."  For  a  moment  she  clung  to 
him  in  a  way  that  made  him  protector.  "I 
don't  feel  that  it  is  farewell,  you  know.  I 
don't  believe  it  is  really  going  to  be  good- 
bye." 

THE  END 


220 


A     000118715     2 


